


More Than Meets The Eye

by Kadysn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2013-07-01
Packaged: 2017-12-16 17:55:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/864925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kadysn/pseuds/Kadysn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John leaves his sons with Bobby for the summer while he continues to search for the thing that took his Mary from them.  Adorableness transpires. Dean is awesome…and Bobby’s pretty good at it too. (Need familiarity with 6.17 “My Heart Will Go On” as fic is set in AU world made canon in that episode.)</p><p>Warnings: none beyond unadulterated schmoop; also some h/c and angst, sick!Sammy<br/>Characters: 9-yr-old Dean, 5-yr-old Sam, Bobby, John and others</p><p>Co-written with PlatinumRoseLady</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Than Meets The Eye

**More Than Meets the Eye**

**Summer, 1988**

It was a quiet morning at Singer Salvage, but as Bobby got his coffee ready, he knew it wasn't going to stay that way for long.

He had guests - two very special little guests.  John Winchester had dropped them off last night; both boys fast asleep in the backseat of the Mustang.  John had gently carried Dean, his eldest son (although the child was nine years old, he was light as a feather in his father's arms) leaving Bobby to lift five-year old Sammy out and bring him in the house.

John looked down at the boys, innocent in peaceful slumber, and Bobby could see the raging debate going on behind John's eyes.  He'd wanted to stay with his children, catch a breather with his friend.

But, there was a new lead to be followed about the thing that had murdered his Mary, and he was just as determined to chase it down. Not knowing how long it’d take, he couldn’t continue to haul his boys around, putting them in danger. At his friend Pastor Jim’s suggestion, and with Bobby’s agreement, John knew his boys would be safe here.

John gave each of his precious sons a quick kiss, gruffly thanked Bobby for promising to keep watch over them, promised he'd be back as soon as he could, and walked downstairs.  A moment later, Bobby heard the rumble as the car drove off.

That was last night.  Now, as he got out a couple of small bowls and set the table, he had a feeling the quiet wasn't going to last.

He heard a sound and turning to face the door, Bobby saw Sammy standing in the doorway to the kitchen. The child's chestnut hair was wild about his face, and he wore a frown as he rubbed at his eyes.

"Where's Daddy?" Sam asked as he crossed the room toward his Uncle Bobby.

Since Bobby wasn't sure what John had told his sons before leaving them on his doorstep, he finished setting the table, putting a box of Trix™ cereal in the middle of the table.

Before he had a chance to answer, Dean moved into the doorway, and seeing his brother, smiled softly. "Morning, Uncle Bobby," he said as he reached his brother and helped him perch on one of the chairs.

Sam, however, was not going to be swayed from getting an answer to his question by a box of sugary treats.  "Where's Daddy?" he asked again, his voice taking on an even more plaintive tone.

Bobby gave Dean a nod and a smile, ruffling the boy's spiky blond locks, before he walked over and knelt down so he was looking up into Sam's little face.

"Your Daddy - well, he had to go away for a little bit, Sammy.  Somewhere... somewhere where little fellas can't go, an' he thought that maybe you and Dean would like to spend some time here with me." Bobby gently tickled under Sam's chin.  "I've missed you two, and I'm glad you're here.  So no more poutin', okay?"

When it looked like Sam wanted to continue, Dean stepped in. Putting his hand on his little brother's shoulder, he chided Sam softly, "None of that, Sammy. Dad'll be back soon. He said so, remember? Get on your chair. Uncle Bobby's got one of your favorite cereals, see?"

Sam did as his brother directed, but not without a fine display of his famous puppy eyes expression. Sam pulled his bowl close and waited while Dean put cereal into it, and then again, when Bobby poured the milk. Only then did he look up at the hunter and asked, "C'n I have some juice, please?"

Bobby grinned. "Sure thing, kid." Glancing at Dean, he added, "Want some too, sport?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Thanks."

Breakfast was an average affair after that, and for that, Bobby sent up a silent prayer of thanks.  It broke his heart when either of the Winchester boys was upset.

No doubt about it - they'd wiggled their way into the gruff hunter's heart and settled right in.

"Uncle Bobby," Sam asked after downing most of his bowl of cereal.  "Can we watch TV when the Tranfarmers come on, please?"

"The Trans-what now?" Bobby asked, a little puzzled.

Dean rolled his eyes.  Sometimes little brothers were the silliest creatures on two legs.  "It's not Trans _farmers_ , Sammy.  It's Trans _formers_!"

Sam looked at his brother with an annoyed frown. "That's what I _said_ , Dean."

Dean didn't bother arguing with his brother. At least not yet. There'd be time for that later. He'd give Uncle Bobby some time to get used to them again before he resumed picking on Sammy, as he felt was his right as big brother.

Instead, he shrugged and said, "Whatever," before spooning more cereal.

Bobby, for his part, found the discussion not only confusing, but also kind of cute. "Ok, fill me in on the, what? _Transformers_?"

Sam began telling him all about the children's cartoon he was currently enamored with, with occasional corrections from Dean, which he shrugged off and ignored.

Sam's eyes lit up with glee, twin pools of blue-green, as he launched into his recitation.  "The Transformers are the bestest, Uncle Bobby!  They're great big robots from outer space an' they can change so they look like cars an' trucks an' planes an' _everything_!"

"You don't say," Bobby replied dryly.  Kids and their love of robots.  Some things never change.  He took a sip of coffee and gave Dean a wry smile.  "You watch this show with your brother, Dean?"

Dean shrugged; the move of a teenager from a nine-year-old almost caused Bobby to laugh.  "I watch it 'cause Sammy does,' he replied.

"Uh-huh," Bobby answered, not buying that for a minute.  "Tell me, Sammy, are these Transformers the good guys?"

Sam nodded eagerly.  "Yep!  Well, the Autobots are the good guys.  The bad guys are the Des-Descrpto..."

"Decepticons," Dean muttered.

"Yeah, the Decepticons," Sammy nodded, hair flying wildly about his sweet face.  "Like Megatron.  He's _scary_.  I don't like him.  I like the Autobots, 'cause they're the good guys - like Optimus Prime - he's like the Daddy, an' there's Brawn an' Rachet, an' Bumblebee, an'--"

Bobby held up a hand, chuckling.  "Okay, okay, I get it.  There's a cast of thousands - go on, git."  He waved the boys away from the table.  "Go check the TV and see if your show's on while I clean up in here."

The Winchesters got up from the table, Sam taking Dean's hand, leading the way to the living room, chattering brightly about the cartoon.

By the time Bobby had the kitchen back in order and made his way into the living room, Sam was already engrossed in the cartoon. Bobby arrived just in time to hear Dean tell his brother, "Not so close to the TV, buddy. You know what Dad says."

Sam grumbled but moved back a few feet from the TV screen.

Bobby sat in the chair behind his desk and started going through the papers littering the top. Dean followed him over and stood beside the desk.

"Hey, Uncle Bobby?" Dean shifted from foot to foot, clearly bored.

"Yeah, kid?"

"What's this?" The boy lifted a sheaf of papers, the top one of which bore a detailed drawing of a Devil's Trap. Turning the paper around so he could look at it more clearly, Dean's leafy green eyes grew large in his face. "I know what this is. It's a--"

Bobby took it from the kid's hands, and sent a glance over at Sam. "I know what it is, and you know what it is, but we'll save the discussion for when we don’t have company. Got it?"

Dean nodded, understanding. Sammy didn't know what Dad did. If Dean had his way, his brother wouldn't learn until he had to. He wanted to protect Sammy as long as possible.

"Uncle Bobby?" Dean decided to brave another question.

Bobby took a breath, "Yeah?"

Dean's voice was barely above a whisper.  "When will I be old enough to do what Dad does?"

Bobby jammed his thumb into his leg.  He was _not_ going to tear up at that - even though the simple question broke his heart.  He didn't want this life for these boys.  He wouldn't wish the life on his worst enemy.

He reached out and lightly cupped Dean's face.  "Hopefully never.  Soon, your Dad will... will take care of things, and then you and he and your brother can settle down."

Dean thought for a moment, then he nodded.  "I'd like that.  I'd like it if we could all stay here and live with you always."

Bobby had to swallow down the lump that threatened to choke him. "Yeah, Dean. I'd uh, I'd like that too." Shifting his papers around long enough to gather himself, he finally cleared his throat and said, "When the cartoon's over, how 'bout you take that brother of yours outside and get some fresh air. Go see if you can find where George ran off to." George was his dog, an old German shepherd who'd wandered in one day and never left. That'd been close to ten years ago.

"Can we play in the car yard?" Dean knew it was sometimes off-limits, depending on what Uncle Bobby had out there at any one time. Some of the old cars weren't too safe.

"I 'spose, but keep an eye on your brother, 'kay?"

¤¤¤

Getting Sam's socks and sneakers on was a bit of an effort (since Sam was in a bit of a squirmy mood that morning,) but finally the task was done.  After slipping on his jacket, since it was still a little cool outside, Dean made sure Sam buttoned up, and both of them went outside.

For a moment, Dean stood on the porch, and took a deep breath.  The air held a myriad of scents, smelling of grass, and trees, but also of oil and old, rusted metal.

He loved those smells - he loved it at Uncle Bobby's.  He hadn't been kidding when he'd told Uncle Bobby he wished they could live here.  All of them - he and Sammy and Dad staying here, settling down.

But, Dean knew in his young heart that couldn't happen, not until Dad killed whatever it was that had killed Mom all those years back.

Just then, there was a tug on his hand.  "C'mon, Dean," Sam said, "let's play!"

Unless it was something he knew would harm his baby brother, Dean tried to give the boy whatever he wanted. If Sammy wanted to run around the yard and play, that's what he'd get. Dean followed Sam as the kid ran toward the car yard, his voice loud and happy. Dean grinned and, keeping an eye on his brother, joined him as he climbed into a rusted out Dodge pickup.

"C'mon, Dean!" Sammy squealed. "I wanna drive first!"

The boy's loud ' _Bbbbbbrrrrrrr_ ' filled the air as Dean settled himself on the seat beside Sam. "When did you get your license, Sammy? You been holdin' out on me or something?"

Sam giggled up at his big brother. "Did it last week!"

Dean decided to play along - it was worth it to see Sam so happy.  He settled in the passenger's seat and put his feet up on the dashboard.  "So, where’re we going, little bro?"

Sam turned and looked at him, his eyes wide and his mouth dropped open, an adorable lowercase "o" of surprise.  "I get to pick?" he squeaked excitedly.

Dean nodded.  "Well, duh, you're driving, ain't 'cha?  So where’re we heading?"

Sam's hands went still upon the wheel.  All this power had gone straight to his head, and as he scrunched his forehead in thought, Dean was hard-pressed not to laugh.

Little Sammy wasn’t used to being allowed to make any decisions. He frowned, and looked up at his big brother. In a small voice, he admitted, "I don't know, Dean. I'm only five."

Dean reached out and ruffled his brother’s curls. "That's ok, Sammy. You did good just getting that license. That's more'n I've done."

Sam hadn't considered that. "Really? I got my license 'fore you did?" It was easy to forget it was just make believe when his big brother and hero admitted to not having done something first.

Dean gave him a grin.  "Yep.  You sure did.  Now you can go out crusin' for girls, and..."

" _Eeeeeeewwwwww_!  Dean, that's just _gross_!" Sam exploded with disgust.  "Girls are _yucky_!  They want to hug you and _kiss_ you and... and they got _cooties_!!!!"

Dean may be only nine-years-old himself, but he was already scoping out girls, noticing them, watching them, thinking about them late at night after Sammy's asleep. He grinned and said, confidentially, "Aww, I don't know 'bout that, Sammy. Girls are ok. They can be silly, but some of 'em are nice."

Sam gave his brother a stink eye. "You got a _girlfriend_ , Dean?"

Dean didn't answer, but the smile on his face said enough. "Don't tell Dad, Sammy. It's our secret."

Sam sat and thought about it a moment. "You _really_ got a girlfriend, Dean? Who is she? Why didn't you tell me 'fore now?"

Dean scoffed and shrugged. "Don't you have some things you don't tell me?"

Sam shook his head. "Nuh, uh. I tells you _everything_!"

There was something in that statement, so honest, so simple, that went into Dean's heart and stuck there.  A grin pulled at his lips as he reached out and ruffled Sam's hair.  "You're always going to tell me everything, right, Sammy?"

Sam nodded, beaming.  "Yep, 'cause you’re my big brother and we're best friends forever an' ever an' _ever_!"  A sudden idea made Sam's eyes light up.  "I just thought of where we can go, Dean!  Let's go where Batman lives!  You like Batman lots an' lots!  Let's go there!"

Dean faked amazement. "You know where the Batcave is?" He gave his brother an awed look, and punched him lightly. "I thought you told me everything. Why didn't you tell me this? This is important stuff, Sammy!"

Sam giggled. "Maybe I keeps a secret once in a while." He 'shifted' the truck's gearshift and looked around as if pulling out. "Don't forget your seatbelts, Dean. I'mma drive real fast!"

Dean smirked, but did as he was told.

¤¤¤

It had been over an hour and there hadn't been any noise out of the boys. Bobby knew he'd better check on them. Putting on his cap, he slipped outside, and was immediately met by George. "Where're they at, G?"

The dog woofed and turning, headed for the junkyard.

Bobby followed the canine and, as they ventured further into the twisted maze of cars, they could hear a pair of voices, both of them breathless with excitement.

"Dean, which way do I go _now_?!  The Joker's gonna catch us!"

"Quick, Sammy, turn down that alley and shut off the engine!"

There was a prolonged " _SCREEEECH_ ,” then the panting of Sam's little voice. 

Dean whispered, "Sammy, you need to turn off the engine!"

"Oh, yeah.  Sorry. *click*"

Silence.

"Dean?  What do we do now?"

"We wait."

"Is Batman gonna come an' save us?"

"Doesn't Batman always come and save the day?" 

Bobby had to grin; Dean sounded appalled that Sam would ever dare to doubt The Caped Crusader.

More silence.

"Dean?"

"What?"

"Is Batman better than Optimus Prime?"

Dean sighed.  "Sammy, Batman's a _person_ , and Optimus is a giant robot from outer space.  Of _course_ Batman's better."

"Why?"

"Because Batman's going to rescue us, and Optimus Prime's too busy fighting Megatron to come help."

"Oh."

" _Shh_!"

"What's wrong, Dean?"

"I think I hear the Joker's car."

A fearful swallow.  "Y-you do?" Sam whispered.

Bobby grinned and moved closer to the truck, with George at his heels.  He stole a quick look and saw the boys both staring out the windshield, lost in their own world.

Dean nodded, a look of utter seriousness on his young face.  "Yep, that's the Joker's car, for sure.  When I tell you to, Sammy, you floor it and drive as fast as you can, okay?"

Sam put his tiny hands on the steering wheel and nodded.  "O-okay, Dean."

"One... two... _THREE!  NOW, SAMMY, PUNCH IT!!!! GO!!!!"_

Sam stomped on the gas pedal as hard as he could and let out a very convincing imitation of screaming tires as the truck ‘sped away.’

Bobby couldn't stay out of the fun any longer.  It felt so wonderful to have such young energy around the salvage yard; it was contagious.  He made his way behind the truck, George at his heels.  Grinning, he started to make the sound of a motorcycle cop, complete with siren. He grinned as he watched both boys nearly fly out of their skin.

When Dean turned and looked out the back window and saw their Uncle Bobby behind the truck, bent over and laughing uproariously, Dean nudged Sammy. "Dude, it was just Uncle Bobby. _Mannnnnnn_!"

Sammy gave up the play. Slipping out the driver's side door, he stood in from of Bobby, little hands balled at his hips, and gave the man a perfect bitchface. "That wasn't funny, Uncle Bobby!"

"From where I'm standin', kid," Bobby gasped, "it was hilarious!"

Dean joined his little brother. Not nearly as appalled as Sam, Dean shrugged and put a hand on Sammy's shoulder. "That's ok, bro. Uncle Bobby knows we were just pretendin'."

"Wellllllll... okay."  Sam walked over to Bobby and held out his arms, turning on the puppy dog eyes to full charm.  "Up, please."

Bobby shook his head - that child was going to be dangerous with that look when he got older - nobody'd be able to resist.  He picked up the little boy and tweaked his nose.  "So what's next, now that you and Dean have broken all kinds of speed limits and other driving laws?"

Sammy giggled.  "Hide 'n Seek, Uncle Bobby!  Please play Hide 'n Seek with me an' Dean?"

Bobby couldn’t say no to Sammy’s puppy eyes any more than Dean (or pretty much anybody else) could, for that matter.  "Alright, Sammy, we'll make this truck home base, you and your brother hide and I'll find you."  He put Sam back down and the youngster scampered over to his brother.

Dean was feeling a little cockier, and tossed Bobby a smart-ass grin.  "I dunno, Uncle Bobby, do you _really_ think you can find me and Sammy?"

Bobby gave Dean a mocking growl and grumbled, "Oh, you think you're so clever, little man?  I know this yard backwards and forwards.  Let's just see how long you two rugrats can stay hidden!"

The challenge had both boys grinning mischievously. Dean cackled and took his brother's hand. "You're on, dude!" With that, he led Sam off between two tall stacks of gutted vehicles, leaving Bobby to grin as he leaned over the roof of the truck, burying his face in his folded arms.

Bobby began to count loudly. "1...2...3..." He could hear Sam squeal from a short distance away, and Dean hushing him as their voices faded away. "...18...19...20! Ready or not, boys, here I come!" He lifted his head, cocking it from side to side, trying to listen for more noises.

George was more than willing to take part in the game, his ears pricking up as Bobby began to scan the yard. 

"Don't think so, George," Bobby said, taking notice of the dog's stance.  He ran a hand between the dog's ears.  "I appreciate the offer, but I'm going on this hunt by myself."  He gave the canine a gentle pat to the rump.  "Head on back to the house, boy.  There's some food and water waiting for ya."

George gave a soft woof, and ambled back to the porch to eat and snooze in the sun.

If Bobby had them figured out, and he was sure he did, Dean’d probably had them split up while still staying close together.  The best way to hunt them, he surmised, would be to flush them out of their hiding spots by getting them to make some sort of noise.

He also knew, or at least figured as much, that Sammy might be the easier of the two to find. Once he found that scamp, finding Dean would be easier.

Or so he thought.

Finding two wily boys in the maze of trashed cars was a lot easier said than done, Bobby found. He took the time to stop and listen as he wove his way through, thinking maybe he'd catch a small whisper or giggle out of Sam, but he heard nary a peep. Whipping his cap off his head, he wiped at his forehead and through his long hair before returning the hat back on his head. "Well, crap. Where'd those yahoos get to?"

He listened once more, just in case the boys were near and had heard him.

Not a sound.

 

Dean hunkered down a little lower in the front seat of the green Buick, the cracked window making the sunlight shine in colored fragments, like water through a prism.  It was a great hiding place, one he'd found for himself after he'd sent Sam off in the opposite direction with the firm warning not to wander too far, and not to climb up any cars.  Just pick the ones on the ground, and he'd be fine.

So far, this was a great spot, a little dusty, but still, Uncle Bobby hadn't found him yet, so maybe he could creep out and make his way to home base...

As he moved to get out, his hand came down on the seat, and a cloud of dust puffed up, going straight up his nose.  Dean's eyes began to water as his nose started to tickle and itch.  He tried his best to hold it in, but the sneeze was relentless.

"Ah-ah-ah-WACHOO!"

Under his breath he muttered, "Damn it!" It felt satisfying to be able to cuss whenever his dad wasn't around. No more had the imprecation escaped his lips than he heard Bobby's steady treads move his way. He hunkered down, covering his nose in the hopes no more dust rose to give him away.

"I heard you, Deano. I know you're here close," Bobby grinned, amusement filling his gravelly voice.

Dean frowned, none too happy with himself. His knees hurt - the floorboard was littered with dirt and small stones, and they pressed into his skin through his jeans. He shifted position, trying to be quiet, but something moved around behind him, making a grating noise.

Less than thirty seconds later, Bobby's head peeked over the cracked glass of the broken window. "Gotcha, son. C'mon outta there."

Dean hit the ripped seat of the Buick and cussed softly again. "Shit."

Bobby cocked an eyebrow and tried to put on a stern face, even though there was just something funny about someone with such an innocent-looking face as Dean had trying to be all tough and swearing.

"None of that.  Caught ya fair and square.  Now hop on out."  When Dean emerged from the car, a little dirty with a sheepish grin on his face, Bobby nodded.  "Good hiding spot, Dean," he said, playfully ruffling the young boy's short locks.  "But it looks like I'm not so old that I couldn't find you!"

"Yeah, yeah," Dean mumbled.  "But you've still gotta find Sam!"

 

Sam had done what his big brother had told him to; he'd found a car that was low to the ground, and had no broken glass or sharp bits sticking out.

In fact, Sam thought as he stretched out in the front seat, the car he's found to hide in was quite nice.  He wondered why someone had thrown it away.  He giggled softly - it was such a good hiding spot, Uncle Bobby would never find him, and he'd make it back to home base and he'd be the winner!

 

His thoughts were interrupted, though, by a soft noise coming from... somewhere.  Sam looked around.  What was that?  It sounded like something crying.  Something small... and it was coming from under the seat of the car he was hiding in!

Forgetting all about the game and trying to be quiet, Sam got on his knees and looked under the seat. There, he found a tiny kitten. Sam didn't know much about animals - Dad had never let him and Dean have a pet since they weren't ever in one place long enough to have one, but even at his young age, Sam knew the kitten wasn't very old. Definitely too young to be without its mama.

He started to reach under the seat to pull the baby out, and then changed his mind. He frowned, and wondered if maybe he should go find Uncle Bobby to get his help. Nodding, he decided that was the best thing to do. He whispered to the kitten, "You stay here, baby, and I'll go get Uncle Bobby."

He sat up and crawled out of the car, and was just wiping himself of the dust covering him when Bobby and Dean walked his way.

"Sammy? What's going on? You're supposed to hide, doofus!"

Bobby rapped him on the back of the head lightly. "Hey, hey...calm down, kid."

Ignoring him, Dean crossed the short space to stand in front of his brother. "You forfeited."

"Nuh, uh," Sam shook his head. "I found somethin'. Come look!"

Sam reached out for Bobby’s hand even as the older man and Dean came closer to the car.  Bobby could see that something had troubled the youngster.  "Sammy, what's the matter?  What did you--?"

"Kitty!  There's a kitty in the car, Uncle Bobby!"  Sam pointed at the seat and said, "Under there,” before moving to stand next to Dean, his eyes wide.

Bobby got closer and, sure enough, he could hear the soft mewling. He moved the seat out of the car since the bottom springs were broken, and revealed a pitiful sight.

On the floor of the car were three kittens - one black with a streak of creamy yellow between its eyes, one fully yellow, and one grey.  The little black one was making all the noise, crying in hunger and fear.

It was obvious to Bobby that the other two bundles of fluff were beyond helping, having succumbed to starvation.

Bobby’s voice was sad but firm, "Dean, you and your brother stay back."  Bobby reached out, and scooping up the still-living kitten, held the thin creature close to his chest.  He knew he’d have to come back out and bury the sad little corpses after the boys had gone to bed.

His face grave, Dean nodded and did as Bobby directed. Taking Sam's hand, he led his brother away, distracting him by telling him how Bobby had found him a little earlier. Even as he did so, Dean was sad that Sammy would have to find out about the two dead kittens. He'd seen them and known immediately they were gone.

When he and Sam got to the porch, George greeted them with a soft 'woof.' Dean ran his hand over the shepherd's head, then opened the screen door and pushed Sam inside ahead of him. "Go get cleaned up, Sammy. I'm gonna see if I can find a box for the kitten."

Sam nodded even as he watched Bobby enter the house, the tiny kitten curled into the man's cupped hands. "Is it gonna be ok, Uncle Bobby?" Sam asked as he met him at the door. "I don't want it to die." Tears began filling his eyes, and one escaped to slide down his dirty cheek.

As much as Bobby wanted to comfort the boy, he knew time was of an essence to give care to the kitten. He couldn’t be sure, but he suspected the baby was somewhere around a week old, much too young to survive without its mother, or without human assistance.

A few years earlier, he’d played Mother for an orphaned puppy, so he knew what it took to keep this little one alive. He just hoped it worked, and that the boys wouldn’t have to experience their first animal loss.

By late afternoon, Bobby had managed to gather what he needed for the kitten – kitten formula and the bottle needed to feed it – as well as all the other accoutrements such as a way to keep it warm, and an old alarm clock that would act as a mother’s heartbeat.

As he took care of the kitten, a little male he’d discovered, he had two assistants in Sam and Dean. Sam was engrossed in everything he watched Bobby do, and whenever asked, made an excellent gofer. Dean, on the other hand, did his best to distract Sam when Bobby asked it of him.

Sam was filled with questions. “Why do you have to wipe his bottom for him, Uncle Bobby?” he asked as the boys watched Bobby gently help the kitten relieve itself.

“Because he doesn’t have his mama here to help him.” Bobby smiled at the young boy as he explained. “We’ll have to do this for a while until he’s old enough to take care of things on his own, and start using his litter box.”

Dean stood behind Sam, and watched over his brother’s shoulder. “He needs a name.”

Sam looked back at Dean, and grinned. “Can I name ‘im?”

Dean shrugged. “What do you want to call him?”

Sam sighed, and studied the kitten. “I don’t know.”

Bobby looked at Sam, and commented, “He kinda looks like a bumblebee, with that streak of yellow on his face and back.”

Just the word ‘bumblebee’ sent Sam into paroxysms of glee. “Just like the Transformer!”

Dean sighed and muttered, “Transformers, Sammy? Get real.”

Sam was insistent. “Yeah! Bumblebee! That’s his name!” He jigged in place, his excitement complete.

Dean gave a bitchface. “Really? Dude, that’s a silly name for a cat.” He looked to Bobby for support. “Tell ‘im, Uncle Bobby. That’s not a good name, is it?”

Bobby held the kitten to his chest and gently massaged its’ back until he heard a tiny burp. “Sammy found the kitten, Dean. Let him name it.”

The elder boy crossed his arms over his chest and scoffed. “Whatever. I still think it’s silly.”

Losing his big brother’s respect didn’t fall easily on Sam. He slumped beside Bobby on the couch and pouted, his lower lip quivering slightly. “Fine.”

Bobby sent Dean a reproving look, and shook his head. “I think it’s a fine name, Sam. If you want to name him Bumblebee, then that’s what we’ll call him.”

Sam smiled up at Bobby and, wiping away a tear that had begun to streak down his face, he said, “Maybe we can call ‘im Bee, for short.” He looked at Dean, wanting his brother to support his choice.

Dean looked at the kitten, now wrapped in a fluffy towel and asleep, and then said begrudgingly, “Bee’s ok.”

Sam grinned, happy once more. He reached out, wanting to pet the baby then pulled back. “Can we pet ‘im?”

Bobby shook his head. “Not yet, son. He’s too tiny. Let him get a little older – maybe a couple weeks or so – then we’ll see.”

Sam didn’t like having to wait, but he knew Uncle Bobby knew best. He’d just try really, _really_ hard to be patient.

 

 

 

[For more information on how to care for an orphaned kitten, see this web link: http://www.wikihow.com/Care-for-Orphaned-Kittens-Less-Than-Three-Weeks-of-Age](http://www.wikihow.com/Care-for-Orphaned-Kittens-Less-Than-Three-Weeks-of-Age)

 

¤¤¤

It had been about a week and a half since Bumblebee made his way into the Singer household, but his tiny presence was certainly felt.  Sam and Dean still ran around, still played, still asked Bobby tons of questions, still caused their share of mischief; but more often than not they were both in the living room, over in the corner, sitting by the box that held the precious bundle of fur.

It was amazing to Bobby how quickly both boys took to caring for the kitten.  Even though he was just little fellow himself, Sam was very gentle, and even helped Bobby to feed Bumblebee sometimes.  He'd hold the kitten and croon to him, singing little made-up songs about how much he loved Bumblebee and how the tiny creature was getting stronger every day.

Dean, it went without saying, was an excellent watcher.  If the kitten so much as sneezed he was right there, observing and letting Bobby know that things were okay.  Hadn't he been doing the same thing when it came to Sam?

When John returned for a brief visit, the boys each grabbed one of his hands and dragged him over to the box where the kitten was peacefully sleeping.

"That's Bumblebee, dad," said Dean, his voice full of pride, "We’re helping Uncle Bobby take care of him."

"But he’s sleepin' right now, Daddy, so you gots to be quiet," Sam said very seriously.

John gazed down at the kitten in the box. Wrapped in a hand towel and curled up next to a softly ticking alarm clock, the baby, John admitted even to himself, was cute. Reaching down to ruffle his youngest son's head, John said, "Have you guys been good, helping Bobby out?"

"Uh, huh," Sam nodded. "When we're not taking care of Bee, we help with chores."

John sent a verifying look at Bobby, and getting a short nod of agreement, John smiled and transferred his gaze to Dean. "You helpin' out with Sammy, son?"

Dean nodded. "Yes, sir." The boy wasn't as voluble as his brother, but that didn't surprise John. Dean was too mature for his age, and John knew that was his fault, but he needed to depend on Dean way more often than he should. He knew how fortunate he was to have a son like Dean who was always ready and able to step up to the plate, even before being asked.

Bobby put a hand on Dean's thin shoulder and chuckled.  "This one's been a real help to me fixing cars an' such." He playfully ruffled Dean's hair, saying, "We'll make a grease monkey outta him yet!"

Dean laughed, but only after he saw John smile at that remark as well. 

In his heart of hearts, John knew he had to kill the thing that had taken away his beloved Mary, leaving his sons without their mother.

Because if he didn't, then Dean and Sam would have to, and he couldn't bear that thought.

John only stayed overnight, long enough to restock his ammo supply and catch a night of sleep. The next morning he was gone again, promising to check in and/or stop back by as soon as he could, maybe bringing Pastor Jim with him next time, as the cleric was the one he was hunting with this time around.

Dean stood on the front porch and watched his dad drive away. When he felt a hand on his shoulder, he jumped slightly, startled.

"You ok, there, kid?" Bobby asked, his voice soft and, for him, concerned.

"Yes, sir. Just thinkin'."

"What about?"

Dean took several moments to form his thoughts before replying. "Why does dad have to be gone so much?" Before Bobby could reply, Dean continued, with a shrug. "I know he's looking for what took Mom from us. I get that. But--"

"But you miss 'im," Bobby acknowledged.

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Sammy does too. He needs Dad as much as I miss Mom. It's not fair."

"Life's not often fair, kiddo," Bobby said. "You're too young to have to learn that, but that's just how things are. I know you don't like having to travel around, living out of podunk motels, or the car, but this is how things are, Dean. You have your responsibilities, just as your dad does. You just gotta deal and move on."

Dean sighed, and it was a sound that broke Bobby's heart.  It was too old, too world-weary a sound to come from a nine-year old boy.  "I know.  But sometimes it sucks."

The sound of little boy giggles floated in from the open screen door, and Dean turned his head and smiled slightly.  "'Least this time when Dad left, Sammy didn't cry.  He's too busy taking care of Bumblebee to be sad."

"That he is, son," Bobby agreed.  "Your brother's really taken to that little feller, an’ he's not even got his eyes open yet."

"When will his eyes open up, Uncle Bobby?" Dean asked as they went back inside.

Bobby shrugged.  "Oh, sometimes this week, next week at the most.  Then the fun'll really start.  I think that Bumblebee is a born mischief-maker, just like two other little sprouts I know!"

 

Bobby was right. Within a week, the kitten's eyes and ears began opening. The boys found it fascinating to watch, day by day, as the feline continued to thrive and grow.

Bobby, on the other hand, was exhausted. He wasn’t an old man; he had as much stamina as any hunter in his early 30s, but it had taken nearly round-the-clock care to keep the kitten alive, fed and mothered. He had most of it to do himself; even though both boys wanted to help, they were too young and inexperienced to do too much.

As soon as Bee was old enough not to need as many frequent feedings through the night, Bobby was able to get a little more sleep. What became the challenge was getting Sam to take afternoon naps so Bobby could catch a few Z’s himself. Pulling Dean aside one afternoon while Sam was hovering over the kitten's box, Bobby confided to the boy.

"Listen, sport, I need your help with somethin'."

"What's that?" Dean looked up at his uncle, and it was clear the man was tired.

"I'm tuckered. I need to catch a siesta. Think you can take your brother outside and play with him and wear him out so he'll take a nap when you come in?"

"Sure, Uncle Bobby," Dean replied.  He went and found Sam, as usual, lying on his stomach in front of Bumblebee’s cardboard home.  Sam was watching the kitten as he kneaded the toweling around himself, the baby’s little eyes wide yet still a little cloudy.

"C'mon, squirt," Dean, said, standing over his brother.  "Let's go outside and play catch for a while."

"But I wanna play with Bee," Sam said, pouting.

"Well, Bee doesn't want to play right now, so leave him alone.”  Dean helped his little brother to his feet and herded him to the door, grabbing a worn baseball and an even more worn mitt on his way out.

Bobby planned to sit at his desk and get some research done while the boys were otherwise engaged, but by the time Dean urged a tired and cranky Sam back into the house an hour later, they found Bobby asleep at his desk, his head resting on his crossed arms, his hat askew.

"See, punk? Even Uncle Bobby takes naps. C'mon, head upstairs. I'll come with you." Dean pushed his brother ahead up him up the treads, his hand on the kid's shoulder, even as Sam grumbled every step of the way.

"I don' wanna nap, Dean. I'm not tired."

Dean didn't have to see Sammy's face to know he was pouting. "Tough toenails. Go."

Sam went, but he continued to make it clear how unhappy he was.

That is, until the moment his head hit his pillow. He was out like a light.

Dean grinned. Now that Sammy was sleeping like a rock, and Uncle Bobby clearly was as well, Dean snuck back downstairs, and curling up on the floor in front of the box, gingerly lifted Bee and cuddled the kitten close. "It's just you an' me, Bee."

Bee mewled happily as Dean picked him up and held him gently.  Dean lay down on the floor and placed the kitten on his stomach.  He tried to stifle his laughter as the kitten walked around in a circle on his stomach – his little claws making it a little tickly.

Then Bee walked up Dean's chest and made himself comfortable, sitting right over Dean's heart.  The kitten snuggled down and began to purr, the gentle vibrations seemed to fill Dean's body with the contentment the small feline was feeling.

Dean yawned, and Bee did the same.  In a moment Dean's eyes began to close, and soon he followed his uncle and brother off to Dreamland.

¤¤¤

John made it back for another short visit almost three weeks later, this time staying for a long weekend. The boys were happy to see him, just as happy as John was to see them, even though he slept through the first day of their visit. When he finally woke up early evening, he found Sammy standing next to the bed, watching him, Bee snuggled in the boy’s arms.

His voice rough from disuse, John asked, “What’cha got there, son?” He turned to his side to face Sam and patted the side of the bed, inviting his son to join him.

Sam crawled up and settled himself next to his dad’s hip. He held the kitten out. “See how big Bee is now, Daddy?” The kitten squirmed to be let down, so Sam settled him on the bed next to his dad’s belly.

John stroked the kitten’s dark head. “He’s a fine-looking animal, Sammy. You’ve done good helping raise him. Your Uncle Bobby told me how you and Dean have been a huge help.”

Sam gave his father a pleased grin, nodding happily. “Uh, huh. Uncle Bobby’s teachin’ Dean how t’ work on cars, and I helps him cook, and do other chores, and help take care of Bee and George. I’m a big boy.”

A hit of guilt slashed through John, that it took another man’s efforts to teach his boys things he should be teaching them himself. Bobby was a good friend, and John knew he owed the man an incredible debt of gratitude for everything he’d done – and continued to do – while he searched for the sonofabitch who took his Mary away.

“Yeah, you are, Sammy,” John agreed, ruffling his boy’s dark curls. “You are, and I’m proud of you.”

Sam grinned at his dad, then turned his little body around, shifting Bee along with him, so they could snuggle alongside John, resting his head on his dad’s shoulder.

An hour later, Bobby stepped to the doorway, the light of the hallway behind him filtering inside the room. He stood for several minutes and smiled softly at the image of his friend, the little boy and small kitten curled up together, fast asleep.

 

John stayed for a few days, and then was gone again.  Just like before, Dean put on a brave face, but he still missed his Dad, was still worried about him and what he was hunting.  He and Sam stood on the porch, Bobby behind them, watching Dad pull out in the Mustang.  Sam held Bumblebee gently in his arms, and had the kitten 'waving' bye-bye as well.

Dean prepared for the tears and sulking after Dad left but, just like the last time, Sam was too pre-occupied with the kitten to be very upset.

"C'mon, Bee," Sam cooed to the puffball snuggled in his arms, "let's go play!"

Sam's happy mood and preoccupation with the kitten lasted through much of the day until evening approached. Sam started to get grumpy and argumentative, not wanting to listen to Bobby, and even gave Dean attitude when Bobby asked the boys to clean up their room.

Sam didn't want to do it. He wanted to play with Bee. He didn't want to leave the kitten alone when it was bath time before bed. He didn't want to get out of the tub once he'd agreed to take his bath. He didn't want to sleep in his own bed, but rather to sleep next to Dean.

Bobby marveled at the patience the elder boy held as Sammy's increasingly nasty attitude only grew. He watched as Dean handled Sam's outbursts with his own soft-spoken insistences. The one thing Dean chose to give into Sam with was the sharing a bed issue.

Once his brother curled up next to him in the twin bed, Dean watched as Sam finally relaxed into sleep, and it was only then that Dean heaved a silent sigh of relief. Minutes later, he drifted off into sleep himself.

Bobby stood in the doorway and sighed.  Sometimes Dean really and truly amazed him.  The amount of maturity that child showed dealing with his brother when he was clearly in an _I'm going to fight you every step of the way_ mode was just incredible.  Maybe a good night's sleep would wring out whatever had gotten Sam in such a contrary mood.

 

He went downstairs and sat on the couch, and was joined a moment later by a little black ball of fuzz who'd decided he hadn't gotten his fill of attention.  Bumblebee reached out and batted the laces of Bobby's boots, mewling softly to be picked up.

Bobby reached down and gently captured the feline into his battle-scarred hands, and lifting the kitten up, stared the cat eye to eye. "You're well on your way to bein' spoiled, you know that, don't you?" Bee mewled again, making Bobby grin softly. He buried his nose into the scruff of the kitten's neck.

A few hours later, after getting the kitten settled into his box for the night, Bobby headed for his own bed. He'd no more than begun falling asleep than he felt a small hand on his shoulder.

"Uncle Bobby?"

Opening his eyes, Bobby saw Dean standing beside the bed. He rose up on an elbow and scrubbed a hand over his face. "Dean? What's up, kiddo?"

"I think Sammy's sick."

Bobby pulled himself up and sat on the edge of the bed. "How do you know, son?"

"'Cause he's hot. I woke up and he was lying next to me, and he's burning up. I'm scared, Uncle Bobby."

Bobby flicked the light on and hauled himself into a sitting position.  He placed a hand on Dean's shoulder, and he could feel the young boy trembling at the idea that his little brother was ill.  "It's going to be alright, Dean," he said, just as much to calm himself as the boy.  "Let's go take a look."

When Dean and Bobby went back into the room the boys were sharing, and Bobby turned the light on, he could see that something was very much amiss.  Sammy usually sprawled over whichever bed he was in, little arms and legs splayed out every which way.  Not now. Now, the child was curled in a fetal position right in the center of the bed.  He was trembling and moaning softly, a fine sheen of sweat making his hair stick to his forehead.

Bobby moved to the bed and reached down to press his palm against Sam's forehead, and almost instantly jerked his hand back in surprise. The boy was on fire.

Without looking behind him at the boy watching over his shoulder, Bobby said as calmly as he could, “Dean, go into the bathroom and look inside the medicine cabinet. Bring me the thermometer.” When there was no sound of movement, he looked back. “Now, Dean.”

Minutes later, Dean returned with the item in hand then watched as Bobby slipped the bulb under Sam’s armpit. “Why are you sticking it there, Uncle Bobby? Dad puts it in our mouths.”

“That’s a good question, Dean. I’m doing it this way because Sam is shivering. I don’t want him to bite down on it. That wouldn’t be good, now would it?” Bobby glanced back at Dean and gave him a reassuring smile, then turned back to Sam and, pulling the thermometer out, turned into the lamp light to read it. Knowing the armpit wasn’t the most accurate of places to get a reading; Bobby was still alarmed to see the 103.6° reading the thermometer showed.

“What’s it say?” Dean asked. He knew it wasn’t good by the way Uncle Bobby frowned.

Bobby didn’t reply; instead, he began throwing Sam’s blankets off and gently lifted the boy from the bed and began to carry him into the bathroom, Sam’s head leaning against his shoulder. “Deano, go get the water started in the bathtub, buddy. We’re gonna try to get Sammy’s temperature lowered. Make it cool water, ok?”

Dean dashed ahead and, by the time Bobby stepped into the small bathroom, water was running into the tub.

“Not too cold,” Bobby warned. “Mostly cold with some hot too. Comfortably cool. Got it, Dean?”

Dean nodded. “Kinda like the cool when you first jump into a swimming pool?” He looked up at Bobby for confirmation.

“Just like that, kiddo.” Bobby began taking Sammy’s pajama top off, then his bottoms, leaving the boy in his undies. “Ok, Dean, that’s enough water.” The level of water in the tub was about six inches deep, and just at the right temperature when Bobby settled Sam in it, keeping the boy propped with his arm.

Dean shut the water off, and watched as Bobby began pouring the cool water over his brother’s body. He knew his uncle was doing what he could, but it still bothered him to hear Sammy moan and mutter in his discomfort.

Almost immediately, Sam began to whimper and thrash around, tears spilling from under closed eyes to run down his flushed little cheeks.

"S'hot... Deaaaaan... 'm hot all over... Unc'e B'bby... I scawed..." Sam's speech was slurred from the fever and pain, and he was starting to slip back into a more babyish speech because of it.

"I know you're hot, Sammy, I know," Bobby said, his voice as soft and as gentle as Dean had ever heard it. Bobby picked up a washcloth and after dipping it in the water, patted it on Sam's face. "You've got a little bug, son, but you're gonna be okay. Dean's right here and so am I. We'll see you through this, right, Dean?"

When Dean didn't reply, Bobby looked back at him over his shoulder. "Right, Dean?"

Dean was silent, but nodding, watched as his baby brother shivered and cried. "Will he be ok, Uncle Bobby?" His green eyes were huge in his face, fear radiating from them.

As much as he wanted to comfort the boy, Bobby knew he couldn't just yet. He only managed a nod as he continued to wipe cold water over Sam's fevered body.

Dean sat down on the toilet and watched as Bobby ministered to his sick little brother, his insides churning with fear and regret.  Fear because, despite what until Bobby said, he knew this was more than a "little bug.”  Sammy was sick, very sick.

And regret, simply because he'd been annoyed with his little brother's contrary behavior earlier in the evening.  Now he knew why Sammy'd been acting so oddly, and the guilt was almost making him physically ill.

"Sammy..." Dean whispered, "I'm so sorry I was mad at you.  Please, you-you've gotta get better..."

Bobby bathed Sam with the cool water for several minutes, then dried off the boy and carried him back to the bedroom, Dean close on his heels. Without being told, Dean gathered fresh pajamas for his brother, this time with Sam’s favorite Transformers on them rather than the previous older pair, with faded Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles emblazoned on the front. He handed them to Bobby, one piece at a time, then gathered a clean pair of socks and proceeded to put them on Sammy himself.

Once the boy was dressed and covered to his chin with the blankets, Bobby reached out and pressed a hand over Sam's forehead. He was still very hot.

Bobby looked over at Dean, and then sighed. "Buddy, I'm going downstairs to call a doctor friend of mine. You stay here with Sammy and keep an eye on him, ok, sport?" He reached out and ruffled Dean's hair soothingly.

Dean spared Bobby a nod, then turned back and looked at his brother.  Sammy seemed to very tiny, like the bed was going to swallow him whole.  There were bright red patches of fevered skin on both his cheeks, but his face looked so very pale other than those splotches of color.

Dean sat down on the bed, and gently took his little brother's hand. "You're going to be okay, Sammy," he said, trying to keep his voice from breaking. "I promise."

Sam began to move softly beneath the covers, in the midst of a fevered dream.  "No, no... st-stay 'way... Dean... don' l-let Megatwon get me..."

Dean gently gave Sam's hand a squeeze.  "Don't worry, Sammy, Megatron won't get you.  I won't let him get you.  I'm here with Optimus Prime and Ironhide and Rachet and..."

"an' 'Bee?" Sam whimpered.

Dean smiled weakly.  "The Autobot _and_ the kitty.  Both Bumblebees, and all the other Autobots and... and..."

"B'tman, too?" Sam questioned, his voice growing fainter with sleep and exhaustion.

Dean nodded, even though Sam couldn't see him.  “Sure thing, Sam.  Batman's here, Leonardo, all the other Ninja Turtles, and everyone else you want.  They're all here and they all want you to rest and have nice dreams so that you'll wake up and be all better."

 

As Bobby made his way back upstairs to the boys, he considered what his friend had told him...that if Sammy's fever hadn't come down and stayed down to normal levels within three days, or if it got higher, to take him immediately to the hospital.

Bobby ran his hand through his hair and sighed loudly. "What the hell were ya thinkin', Winchester, leavin' your boys with me? I don't know what I'm doin' here." When he got to the open doorway, he stood and watched Dean as the boy held his brother's hand, and whispered to him. After a long moment, he stepped inside and joined Dean on the edge of the bed.

"He's going to be ok, Dean. I promise you. We'll do everything we can to take care of him, right? You and me both. Partners?" He held out a hand and offered it to the boy.

Dean sniffed, and blinked his eyes (because there was _no way_ he was going to cop to crying) and took Bobby's hand in a firm shake. "Partners," he agreed.

Bobby was impressed by the steel in the child's voice.  No doubt about it - Dean was John Winchester's son through and through.

Dean tried to hide the yawn that snuck up on him, and failed rather badly. 

Bobby chuckled, “You ain't going to do your brother much good asleep on your feet though, Dean."

"’M alright..." Dean mumbled, only to yawn so deeply Bobby swore he could see his tonsils.

"Uh-huh, you're just peachy," Bobby growled.  He took Dean by the shoulders and led him into his own bedroom.  "There.  Now you get under the covers and get some shut-eye.  I'll stay with Sammy and keep an eye on his fever."

Dean sat down on the bed, and with a sigh, climbed beneath the blankets.  He looked up at the celling and sighed again. 

The boy was radiating misery, and there was no way Bobby wanted him to fall asleep like that... when a dash of inspiration struck. He made his way downstairs, and was back in his bedroom in a matter of minutes, carrying a box with an awake and curious passenger.

In spite of his worries, Dean gave the kitten a smile.  "Hey, 'Bee," he said softly, smiling even more when the kitten mewled back.

"Figured he could keep you company tonight," Bobby said, placing the tiny bundle of black fluff on the pillow next to Dean's head.

As much as he wanted to argue with Bobby to be able to stay in the room with Sammy, Dean was too tired. Besides, now that Bee was curled up beside him on the pillow, Dean gave in.

Minutes later, he'd also given in to sleep, and was breathing heavily when Bobby checked on him and the kitten.

Bobby returned to Sam and, sighing loudly, found a comfortable position on the other twin bed. His voice soft, he commented, "I'm not cut out for this, Sam. You have to get well soon, kiddo."

 

The next morning when Dean woke up, Bee was gone. He dashed around the room, looking for the kitten, only to realize the box was gone as well. Uncle Bobby must have come to get him earlier.

Padding down the hallway in his socked feet, he stood in the doorway to his and Sammy's room. Bobby was sitting on the edge of Sam's bed, taking his temperature. "How high is it?"

Bobby looked over at the boy, and shook his head. "Still high, Dean. Would you go get the tub ready again?"

Dean nodded and walked to the bathroom, getting the water temperature just where it needed to be when Bobby appeared in the doorway, cradling Sam in his arms.  Dean's heart clenched; his little brother looked so small, so frail in Bobby's arms.

"Help me undress him, Dean, and we'll get him in the water again."  Bobby's voice was soft, and as gentle as Dean had ever heard it.  He was trying to keep Sam calm, since the child was in that place between dreams and waking.

Repeating the previous night's efforts, between the two of them they bathed Sam's fevered body, working to give the boy some relief.

Only this time, Sammy didn't cry, squirm, or complain. Rather, he was quiet, and to Bobby's concern, was almost non-responsive. He didn't want to admit it to Dean, but he was afraid for Sammy. Putting the washcloth he'd been using to swab the cool water over Sam's body aside, Bobby made a decision.

"Go get dressed, Dean. No time to fritter around. I'm gonna take Sammy to the ER."

At the mention of those two little letters, Dean would've sworn his heart slammed right into his stomach.  ER - the hospital was somewhere you only went if things were really, _really_ wrong.  He'd seen Dad stitch up his own leg rather than go to the ER.

But this wasn't Dad.  This was different.  This was Sammy.

Dean ran to his room, threw on a t-shirt, slipped into some jeans, and tossed on his sneakers.  He grabbed a t-shirt for Sam and a pair of sweatpants and laid them on the bed, just as Bobby walked back in, carrying the dried-off little boy.

Bobby knew Dean was scared - the boy's green eyes were wide and fear-filled - but he handled it well for a child his age. Another thing Bobby guessed he could lay at John's feet.

Dean didn't need any further instructions from Bobby. By the time Bobby carried Sammy downstairs, Dean already had a blanket and a pillow in the truck parked outside, as well as Sam's shoes and light jacket. He stood in the open doorway, holding it open for Bobby and his brother. "What about Bee?"

Without pausing his strides, Bobby called back as he heard Dean close the door behind them. "Already fed. He'll be fine for now, buddy. Hop in the truck. We gotta go."

Bobby wasn't the slightest bit surprised when Dean scrambled into the back seat.  He knew that the youngster would want to keep as close to his sibling as he could, as though he could will Sammy to get better.

Bobby sighed.  If only it were that easy.

Dean opened the back door, and Bobby gently slid the quiet child onto the truck’s bench seat.  In a flash Dean had positioned himself so that Sam's head was resting on his lap.  As Bobby got the truck started and they headed to the ER, he could hear a soft sound coming from the backseat.

It was Dean, singing softly to his little brother.  Bobby strained his ears over the hum of the motor to hear the words, and when he did, they surprised him.

_"remember to let her into your heart_

_then you can start_

_to make it better..."_

"Hey Jude?" Bobby wondered aloud then cursed himself when the singing stopped.

"Dad... Dad told me once that Mom used to sing that song to me.  That I liked it when I was crying," Dean explained.

Bobby nodded, and gave the young boy a smile in the rearview mirror.  "Well, I think it's a great song, and I'm sure Sammy will tell you so himself when he's better."

¤¤¤

"Uncle Bobby? What's taking so long?" Dean asked after the two of them had been sitting in the ER waiting room for almost an hour. "Why can't we go in with Sammy?"

Bobby pressed the boy's shoulder reassuringly. "Soon, Deano. Soon. They'll let us know when we can go back."

Dean nodded, then a couple minutes later, asked, "Did you call Dad? Dad needs to be here."

Bobby silently called John Winchester a few choice names, but held back in front of Dean. "I know, buddy. I've tried several times. You know if your dad's...busy...he's not near a phone. I'll keep trying."

Finally, a nurse stepped into the small waiting area, and asked, in a soft voice, "Singer? Family of Sam Singer?"

Bobby stood. "That's us. How's Sammy?"

Dean looked up into the nurse's face, worry making his freckles stand out against his pale skin.  "Can we go back there?  Please?  I need to see my brother.  Is he gonna be okay?"

The nurse, a pretty, middle-aged woman whose nametag said _Yvonne_ gave Dean a tender look.  "Are you Dean?" When Dean nodded, she said, "He's been asking for you, along with someone named... Bea, I think he said.  Is that your Mama, honey?"

Dean shook his head.  "No, ma'am, Bee's our cat, Bumblebee.  Can-can we please see him?"

Yvonne sadly shook her head.  "Dr. Cooper is with your brother right now, and she'll come out and speak with you and...?" She looked at Bobby.

"I'm the boy's uncle," Bobby responded to her questioning gaze.

"Well, Dr. Cooper will be out as soon as she can to speak to you both." Yvonne gave them a sympathetic look.  "So if you could just sit over there and wait, she'll be out soon."

Dean sighed loudly in his frustration, so it was Bobby who nodded to the nurse before grasping Dean's shoulder to lead the boy back to the seats.

Just as the nurse promised, less than fifteen minutes later a striking woman in a white lab coat over teal blue scrubs, hair a lovely shade of silvery blonde, stepped into the waiting room. She gave them a soft smile as she held out her hand to Bobby. "Mr. Singer? I'm Dr. Cooper. Amelia Cooper. I'm Sam's doctor." She gestured to the nearby chairs. "Let's have a seat, shall we?"

Once they were seated, the doctor smiled at Dean. "You're Sam's brother, I hear?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah. I want to see Sammy."

Amelia nodded. "I know, son, and I promise I'll let you peek in at him, but let me tell you about what's going on with Sam first, ok?"

Dean nodded, and without even realizing he was doing so, slipped his small hand into Bobby's weathered one.  Bobby gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

The words _I'm here for you, son_ , hung in the air, unspoken.

"Well, we still have to perform a number of tests, but from what I've seen with Sam, I suspect he's got a case of Meningitis going on." At Bobby's gasp, Amelia continued, "Before you freak out," she reassured them, "There are two kinds of Meningitis. The first, the bacterial kind, is the more serious of the two. The second is viral, the kind I suspect Sam has, and it’s much less serious, but it does require a day or two of testing to determine, and unfortunately, it's also the kind that there is little treatment for. Sam will basically have to tough it out, but we will certainly do what we can to help relieve his symptoms."

Dean, to both Bobby and the doctor's surprise, appeared to understand. "Is what he has catching? Can I see him without getting sick myself?" Not that it mattered to him in the least. He didn't care. He just wanted to be with his brother, and right now.

Dr. Cooper shook her head. "No, son, he's not infectious, but he is still pretty sick, and he needs his rest. Hospital rules don't allow visitors under 16 years of age."

Before Dean had the chance to display the famous Winchester temper, Bobby put a calming hand on his shoulder and shook his head at the boy. "Doc, I know rules are rules, but trust me when I tell you that you don't want to see what’ll happen if you refuse to allow this boy in to see his brother. Trust me also when I promise you I won't lift a finger to stop it."

Dr. Cooper had seen her share of worried family members, and she could tell from the determined look in Dean's eyes that he would make good on Bobby's words if he weren’t allowed to see Sam.

"Well, your brother hasn't been transferred to a room, yet.  Until that occurs, I don't see why you both can't sit with him." She fixed Dean with a firm look.  "But you must be as quiet as you can, and not upset your brother.  Are we clear?"

Dean nodded and said, "Yes, ma'am." He stood up, but refrained from charging into the emergency room cubicle, instead waiting, somewhat patiently, for Bobby.

When Dean walked through the curtain and saw his baby brother lying on the bed, he crept forward and took Sam's hand. "Hey, Sammy. I'm here. Everything's gonna be fine. I promised you that, didn't I? I always take care of you, right? That's my job. Me 'n Uncle Bobby are gonna make sure of it."

Bobby stood at the doorway and listened in as Dean kept up a soft monologue to his brother. Dr. Cooper stood behind him, and caught what Dean was saying as well. In a near whisper, she asked, "The boys are close, I take it?"

Bobby nodded. "Yep. They're the best of friends, and Dean's...Dean's protective. I guarantee you that if you want Sammy over there to cooperate with you, you're not gonna limit his access to his brother, and vice versa."

Amelia grasped his arm and gestured for him to step outside with her. "Mr. Singer--"

"Bobby."

She smiled. "Bobby. I will certainly do what I can, but I can't promise you that Dean will be allowed to stay the whole time. A few hours a day is the best I can do. I'm sorry. I don't make the rules. I can only bend them slightly."

Bobby nodded.  If that were the best he could hope for, he'd take it.  He knew the Dr. could get in some serious trouble bending the rules as she was, and he appreciated it.  "Thanks, for caring - for both of them, I mean.  I have a… friend… who can stay with Dean when he has to leave.  If it's okay, I'll sit with Sam until visiting hours are over."  Bobby gave a wry smirk.  "Need to see my ID?"

The doctor laughed, a sweet, rather girlish sound.  "Oh, I'm pretty sure you're over 16."

Bobby felt his cheeks warm. Even though he wasn’t used to women flirting with him, he thought he could remember how it went. “A year or two at least.”

Amelia patted his shoulder. “Go sit with the boys and as soon as Dean’s time is up, a nurse will let you know.”

Bobby nodded. “Thanks, Doc. ‘Preciate it.”

Before he stepped back into the room with Sam and Dean, Bobby slipped back out into the waiting room and over to one of the courtesy phones. From memory, he dialed and at the answering response, said, “Hey, darlin’, it’s me…”

 

A couple hours later, a young nurse poked her head through the curtain closing off the small room. “I’m sorry, but visiting hours are over for Dean. Dr. Cooper asked me to let you know.”

Dean wanted to complain, but the brief shake of head from Bobby silenced him. “When can I come back? Sammy’ll miss me.”

The nurse entered the rest of the way, and kneeling down in front of him, took his hands. “Give your brother a chance to rest through the night. We’re going to get him settled into his own room shortly. When you come back in the morning – bright and early if you want – you can see Sam then, ok?” She squeezed his hands reassuringly. “I promise.”

Dean nodded. “Can I call and tell Sam good night later?”

The nurse smiled and ran a caressing hand over his hair. “Absolutely.”

Just then, the curtain parted again, and a lovely brunette stepped through. Her eyes immediately fell on Bobby, and she gave him a soft smile. “Hey, hon.”

Bobby stepped over to her and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Hey, yourself.”

Dean stared up at her. “Who’re you?”

“Dean—“ Bobby chastised, but was waved off.

“That’s ok, sweetie. He doesn’t know me.” As the young nurse slipped out of the room, the brunette slid into a chair at the side of the room. “Hi, Dean. I’m Ellen, Bobby’s friend….”

 

“I don’t wanna go. Sammy needs me,” Dean insisted as he reluctantly exited the hospital building at Ellen’s side. “I don’t know you. Why do I have to stay with you?”

“Do you trust your Uncle Bobby?” Ellen asked as she led the boy to her truck. She unlocked the door and opened it, then stood and looked down into Dean’s mutinous face.

Without a thought, Dean nodded. “’Course I do.”

“Ok. Well, he trusts me. We’re close friends, Bobby and I. Can you trust me too?” She gestured to the vehicle, inviting him to settle himself inside.

Dean didn’t budge. “He never told me about you.”

Ellen sighed. “Ok. You have me there, but I’m sure he would have soon. Bobby and I—“

Again, with a lack of tact his youth and impatience saw no need for, Dean asked, “Are you and Uncle Bobby fu—“

“Inside. Now.” Ellen, the mother of a 7-year-old daughter, used that Mom voice that clearly told Dean the conversation was over.

He stepped up inside the truck and settled in, but it was clear he wasn’t happy about it.

“Buckle up.”

Dean did so but not before sending Ellen a clear, _You’re not my mom and you can’t tell me what to do,_ look. When all he got in return was a steady glare, he shrugged and muttered, “ _Whatever_ ,” before crossing his arms over his chest and pushing out his full lower lip into a classic pout.

The drive back to Bobby’s was made in silence.

Ellen gave up trying to engage the boy in the seat next to her in conversation.  She wasn't sure if it was because he was tired, or simply didn't trust her yet, but Dean didn't say more than ten words the whole trip back to Bobby's salvage yard.

When they pulled up close to the house, Dean jumped out and didn't wait for Ellen as he ran up and let himself in with a key Bobby'd given him.  Ellen walked up to the house, giving George a fond scritch as she checked to make sure he had food and water.  When she got inside, Ellen found Dean sitting on the living room floor, cuddling a black ball of fluff to his chest.

"Who's that?" she asked as she walked into the room and shrugged off her jacket, laying it the back of the divan.

Seeing the soft curve of a smile on the boy's face, Ellen realized that the kitten might very well be the means by which she could get through to Dean. She crossed the room and knelt beside him where he cuddled the cat to his face. Reaching out, she fingered the kitten between the ears, and smiled a bit herself when the feline released a loud rumbly purr.

Dean looked up at her. "He likes you."

Sitting the rest of the way onto the floor, crossing her legs Indian-style, Ellen petted the kitten. "He's pretty awesome, Dean. My daughter, Jo, has been asking for a pet. Maybe I'll get her one, if they're anything like this little one."

It took a couple minutes, and then Dean asked, trying to act nonchalant, "How old is she?"

"My Jo?"

Dean nodded.

"She's seven, so what? A couple years younger than you?" Ellen smiled at the boy, and not able to resist, reached out a hand to caress his hair. When he didn't jerk away, but instead leaned into her hand a moment, she gave it another gentle swipe before pulling her hand back.

Dean nodded.  "Uh-huh.  I'm nine and Sam's..." The words jammed up in his throat, and he bowed his head again, so Ellen couldn't see the sadness, the fear in those green eyes.  "Sam's five.  He-he named Bumblebee, and - and I teased him about it."  His voice dropped to a whisper even as he stroked the soft black fur, ran his finger over the yellow patch.  "I wish I hadn't done that now... I w-wish..."

Ellen understood. "He's going to be fine, Dean. I know you're worried. We all are, but he'll be fine. Really."

Dean looked up at her, but as much as he wanted to believe her, he didn't know her. He couldn't trust her like he did Uncle Bobby. Or Dad. "You don't know that. We've never met you before today. You don't know me or Sam so how do you know he'll be fine?"

Ellen sighed. "You trust Bobby, right?"

Dean had to agree that was true, so he nodded his head, his chin rubbing against Bee's furry head.

"Well, Bobby trusts me, so don't you think you could trust me too? Just a little, maybe? Enough to believe me when I say your brother will be fine. Can you do that?"

Dean wanted to.  He really, really did.  The weight of being the responsible one, the one who had to care for both Sam and himself was crushing him.  Would it be so bad to let another person in?  Someone he could trust?

Dean looked into Ellen's eyes, and saw nothing there but kindness.  He acquiesced with a brief nod of his head.

Ellen reached out and ruffled his short hair fondly. "Well, that's good.  Now, let's both get offa this floor and get you something to eat."

"I'm not--" Dean started to protest before his stomach gurgled.

Ellen tossed back her head and laughed. "Sure, kid. I believe you." Getting to her feet, she waited until Dean settled Bee back into his box and rose to his own feet before she crossed the room toward the kitchen. "Whatta you say, Dean?" She peeked into the fridge. "How does a sandwich and juice sound to you?"

¤¤¤

Bobby stood in the waiting room at the courtesy phone, trying for the dozenth time to reach John, and without luck. Under his breath, he snarled, “Damn it, John! Where the hell are you? Your boys need you.” After yet another dial tone without a pick up on the other end, Bobby slammed the phone down.

Taking a deep breath, he strode back into the ER room where a couple nurses were getting Sam readied to take him to his room on the fourth floor. When Bobby pushed the curtain aside, the nurse at the foot of the cot turned and glanced at him over her shoulder.

“We’re ready to take him upstairs, if you’d like to go with us.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll do that,” Bobby nodded then watched as the nurses began rolling Sam’s bed out of the room, then followed them as they rolled the boy out of the ER and down the hall toward the elevators.

Bobby looked down at the tiny form resting in the center of the bed, and his heart gave a lurch.  Sam was so quiet, so still.  Usually the little rugrat was a bundle of energy, zipping all over the place, full of questions and giggles.

What Bobby wouldn't give to hear that bright laughter now.

The ride in the elevator to the room was a quiet one; Sam didn't make a sound until they got to the room and began to transfer him to the bed.  Then he began to moan and whimper softly.

Bobby listened from outside the room at Sam's whimpers, and once more, he was irritated - no...pissed off - at John for thinking the hunt was more important than his sons. As he waited to be allowed inside Sam's room, Bobby vowed to read John the riot act once the man returned.

A few minutes later, the younger of the two nurses, a petite redhead whose nametag read 'Betsie,' stepped out of the room. "He's in his bed now, Mr. Singer. You can go in now."

"Thanks," Bobby nodded to her as he stepped into the room and made his way to Sam's bedside. Looking down at the little boy, Bobby was glad to see Sam awake and looking up at him. "Hey, buddy. How're you feeling?" He rested a hand on Sam's arms comfortingly.

"Hot, Uncle Bobby," Sam whined. "Where's Dean? I want Dean."

Bobby sighed - he'd had a feeling that was going to be the first thing Sam said.  "Dean couldn't stay here, sport.  He wanted to real bad, but the hospital's got rules, and he had to go back to my house."  Before Sam could open his mouth to protest, Bobby held up a hand, "But he'll be back tomorrow, I promise.  I've got a friend staying with him, and she's taking good care of him, just like the nurses are going to take care of you.  Now, you gotta to be a good boy and do what they say, okay?  The sooner you do that, the faster you'll get better."

"And then I can go back to your house, Uncle Bobby?" Sam questioned, his eyes still bright with fever.  "Does Dean... does he know how to take care of Bumblebee?  He likes it when I sing to him before he goes to sleep.  I sing to him and I tickle his tummy - can you tell Dean to do that, please?"

"I can do better than that, Sam." Bobby reached for the telephone on the cart beside Sam's bed. "How 'bout we call him?" Getting Sam's nod, Bobby punched in the number, and when it was answered on the other end, said, "Hey. It's me. I've got a little guy here who'd like to speak to his brother. Would you put Dean on, please?"

Sam took the phone, and Bobby could instantly see how weak the boy was. He reached down and helped prop the receiver to Sam's ear.

"Dean?" Sam asked, his voice soft and weak. "Dean...need you." With that, he began to cry.

 _"Sam?  Sammy, don't cry,"_ Dean's voice came through the phone loud and clear, and so full of pain that even the nurse, who was standing over at the door to give Bobby a little privacy could hear.  The woman blinked back a tear as well - she couldn't stand it when kids suffered. 

"I wanna come h-home Dean," Sam sniffled, and a part of Bobby's heart burned with - oh who was he kidding it was love.  He loved these two kids as if they were his own sons. 

 _"You'll come home, soon, Sam, I promise,"_ Dean said, trying to cheer his brother up.  _"I'll be there tomorrow to see you and you'll keep gettin' stronger and better an' you'll be back here with me an' 'Bee in no time."_

"Dean?  Can you please sing 'Bee a song before he goes to sleep?  He likes to have a song and he likes it when you tickle his-his tummy..."  Sam yawned and his eyes began to droop, and the next yawn almost seemed to suck the strength right out of the child.

When Sam yawned again, Bobby gently took the phone from him and put it to his own ear. "Dean? You still there, bud?"

Dean's voice came through the line, soft and worried. _"Uncle Bobby? Is he still cryin'?"_

Bobby looked down at Sam and was relieved to see that he child had fallen asleep. "Nah, Dean. He's asleep. The little guy's tuckered out. I'm gonna stick around a while, ok? You stay put with Ellen and I'll be home after while. Take care of Bee for your brother, alright?"

_"Ok. I want to see him first thing in the morning, Uncle Bobby. I promised him."_

"You bet, kid. I see you in a couple hours." Bobby hung up the phone then turned as he heard the nurse approach. "How early can I bring his brother in tomorrow?"

The nurse, an older woman by the name of Carol, asked, "How old is he?"

"Dean's nine, but Sammy's doctor said he could come up." Bobby wasn't about to let them backtrack on the permission. He'd insist on bringing Dean up, and he'd throw his own fit over it if he had to.

"I'll check with the doctor and let you know before you leave," she smiled as she patted Sam's blanket-covered feet.

Bobby looked at the child sleeping somewhat peacefully.  Sam looked so tiny in the bed, his hair splayed out and his lips softly moving, even though no sound was coming out.  He knew that the doctors had already started giving him the medicines that would make him well.

He just hoped that they would work quickly, for the sake of both Winchester boys.

¤¤¤

Bobby didn't even try to keep up with Dean as the boy trotted down the hallway toward Sam's room the next morning. By the time he crossed through the doorway, he saw Dean sitting beside his brother on the side of Sam's bed, with Sammy curled up next to his brother tight as could be.

"Didja sing to 'im, Dean?" Sam asked, tipping his head back to look up at his brother. "An’ rub his belly?"

"Did just what you said to do, Sammy. He went right to sleep, just like you said he would." Dean gazed down at his brother, studying his face and how flushed his skin was. Reached up to put his hand over Sam's forehead, Dean grinned softly. "You don't feel as hot, Sammy! You feelin' better?"

Sam nodded. "Uh, huh. Some," he admitted even as he leaned his head against his big brother's arm. "I wanna go home with you."

Dean leaned back against the pillows and pulled his brother close. "I know, Sammy. Me too." He looked up and over at Bobby. "When can he go home, Uncle Bobby?"

Bobby pulled a chair over and sat down next to the bed.  He took Sam's hand in his and the little boy tightened his grip a little, staring hopefully into Bobby's eyes.

"Well, that's going to be up to the doctors, you two.  They'll have to decide when Sam's well enough to come home."  Dean frowned darkly at that, and Sam began to sniffle again, so Bobby said quickly, "But I'm gonna ask the Doctor about that the second she gets in here.  In the meantime..."

"In the meantime, its breakfast time!" said a perky voice.  A candy striper, a very pretty brunette whose nametag said "Joy", came into the room with a tray.

Bobby turned to watch the teenager as she crossed the room to put the tray on the rolling cart and moved it across Sam's lap. She grinned at the boys. "There's a little extra on the tray. A birdy told me there might be two of you eating." She winked at them before patting Sam's feet and turning to walk back out.

Dean smiled down at his brother teasingly. "Dude! You've got cute girls here!"

Sam screwed up his face and reached for the small cup of juice on the tray. "Ick. Girls got cooties, 'member?"

Dean looked over at Bobby and grinned when the older man winked at him. Before he had a chance to reply, Bobby inserted, "Maybe you think so now, kiddo, but wait until you're older. You won't think so then."

Sam shook his head, completely unimpressed by the idea. "Nuh, uh." He sipped his juice, and then reached for the spoon resting beside his cereal bowl. "Girls're gross."

"Well, I don't think Ellen's gross..." Dean said, and trailed off when he caught Bobby giving him the stink eye.  Maybe Sam was still too out of it to catch onto that...

No such luck.  Sam turned away from his cereal and looked at Bobby, blue-green eyes wide.  "Who's Ellen, Uncle Bobby?  Is she your girlfriend?"

Bobby felt his cheeks warm. He couldn't remember the last time he'd blushed. "She's a friend, Sammy." He looked back at Dean and gave him a short headshake, not needing the kid to continue the topic of discussion.

Sam didn't relent. He looked up at his brother, and asked again, insistently, "Who's Ellen, Dean? Why don't you think she's gross?"

Dean decided to cut Bobby some slack - but not too much.  He took a slice of toast and tore it in half (more for Sam) and popped the rest into his mouth.  He chewed, thinking, and then said, "Ellen's a nice lady that gave me a ride back to Uncle Bobby's house and made some dinner for me.  She thinks Bumblebee's great, too, Sam."  Sam beamed at that.  "And... she's got a daughter who’s seven years old, so she's nearer your age then mine, so you can have a girlfriend of your own!  If you like older girls, of course." Dean finished with a grown-up wink at his little brother.

 

Two dots of red appeared on Sam's cheeks, but this time they were from embarrassment, not fever.  "Uncle Bobby," he yelped, "Dean's teasing me!"

Relieved to have escaped the gauntlet, Bobby admitted to himself he was ok with Dean teasing his little brother for once. "Just a little bit, Sam. That's what big brothers do, remember?"

Sam considered it a moment, then nodded as he lifted a spoonful of cereal to his mouth, then chewed a moment before saying, his mouth full, "W'll I g't t'meet E'll'n?"

Before Bobby had the chance to say anything, Dean swiped at his brother's nose. "No talkin' with your mouth full, Sammy."

Sam nodded and finished chewing, then swallowed. "Can I meet Ellen, Uncle Bobby?"

Bobby nodded. "Sure. How 'bout I ask her and Jo to have dinner with us when you're home and feelin' better?"

Sam liked that idea. He grinned up at Bobby and said, full of excitement, "D'you think Jo likes kittens? I wanna show Bee to her!"

"I'm sure she does, Sammy,' Bobby, said glad to see a little color and live back in the child.

Sam smiled brightly for a moment, but then he looked a little downcast, his fingers playing with his spoon.  "Uncle Bobby... where's Daddy?  Does he know I'm not home with you?  Does he know I'm sick?"

Dean looked over at Bobby, and he could see the anger in the boy's eyes.  "Yeah, Uncle Bobby... where is Dad?"

Bobby wasn't able to disguise all his anger at John from his voice, but he explained as calmly as he could, "I've tried callin' your dad several times, boys. He's just not been near a phone, I guess. I'll keep tryin', I promise."

Sam nodded then resumed eating, but Dean continued to share an annoyed look with his uncle. Bobby knew he and the boy would discuss the matter more later.

It didn't take long for Sam's energy to deplete; before he'd finished his breakfast, his eyelids were flagging and he'd begun rubbing at them and yawning. He pushed the breakfast tray away. "Not hung'ry no more.”

Dean nodded and rolled the cart towards the foot of the bed. “That's ok, Sammy. Why don't you curl up and take a nap. I'll sit with you."

"You won't go 'way while I'm sleepin'?

"No way, Sammy. I'll stay right here." Dean sent a pleading look at Bobby, hoping he hadn't just outright lied to his baby brother.

Bobby could only shrug and hope for the best.

Within moments, Sam was sleeping, his head resting in Dean's lap.

¤¤¤

When one of the nurses came in later and told them Dean would have to leave for a while, Sam was still sleeping, his body curled up alongside his brother's. Dean sent a pleading look over at Bobby, receiving a resigned shrug. Sighing loudly, Dean put a hand to Sam’s shoulders and shook them gently.

“Sammy? Hey, bud, wake up a minute, ok?” When Sam didn’t respond, but continued sleeping, Dean tried again. “Sammy? C’mon, squirt. I have to go.”

His brother’s words finally sinking into his subconscious dreams, Sam roused and stretched. “D’n?”

“Yeah, kiddo. I gotta go. I didn’t want to leave without sayin’ goodbye,” Dean said reluctantly. “C’mon, Sam. Sit up a minute, ok?”

Sam pulled himself up and squinted his eyes over at Dean, then rubbed them. “Don’ want you t’go,” he whined softly. “Wan’ you t’stay.”

Dean pushed his legs off the edge of the bed, no more wanting to leave than Sam wanted him to, but he knew he had to follow the rules if he wanted to be allowed to return. “I know, Sammy, but I’ll be back. ‘Sides, I need to go take care of Bee, right?” Lowering his head so he could look up at Sam through the hair hiding his brother’s eyes, Dean added, “I’ll be back, Sammy. I promise, as soon as they let me.”

Sam leaned his head against Dean’s shoulder. “Be back tonight?”

“I don’t know, Sam. I’ll try.” Dean rested his cheek on top of Sammy’s head for a moment, then sighing loudly, said, “Gotta go, bro. Go back to sleep. If I can’t come back today, I’ll call you, ok?”

Sam said nothing, merely nodding then laid back against his pillows and watched as Dean pushed off the side of the bed. His smoky eyes bruised with his illness, and his face flushed, he wanted his brother to stay, but he didn’t have the energy to fuss about it.

Bobby rested a hand over Sam’s head a moment and said softly, “Get some sleep, Sam. I’ll be back later. I’m just gonna get Dean home.”

Sam nodded and by the time Bobby and Dean made it to the doorway, the boy was asleep once more.

¤¤¤

Sam was released from the hospital a couple days later back into Bobby's care. Still not feeling well, but with his fever pretty much gone, Sam was happy to be back home at Bobby's, even though he still didn't have much energy, spending most of the day on the divan in Bobby's study, playing quietly with Bee while Bobby worked at his desk.

Dean, on the other hand, was bored silly. There wasn't much to do while Sammy was resting.

Bobby understood this, and did what he could to occupy the boy's time with showing Dean how to work on the old truck Bobby drove. He'd had just about enough when he heard the kid sigh loudly for the twentieth time.

Bobby pushed himself away from his desk and muttered, "Stay with your brother," and not waiting to see Dean's response, he crossed through the house and out the door into his yard and towards his old workshop. He stormed inside, went to an old desk alongside one wall, and reached for the old rotary phone sitting on the corner. He dialed a number from memory, having called it multiple times in the past weeks.

When he got John's voice mail again, it was all Bobby could do not to hurl the phone against the wall in utter frustration.  "John, this is Bobby. I don't know where the hell you are, Winchester, and right now I'm beyond caring.  These boys need to see you.  Get your ass back to my place NOW!"  With that, Bobby slammed the phone down.

Back in the study, Sam was curled up on the divan, gently stroking Bumblebee's stomach, a faint smile on his face as the feline purred, sending his good feelings into the little boy.  He looked over at Dean, who was flipping through one of Bobby’s books.

"Dean?" Sam said, "Can I ask you somethin'?"

Dean looked up from the book, and walked over to the divan.  He sat on the chair next to it, and looked at his little brother.  "Sure, Sammy, what do you wanna know?"  He figured it would be one of Sam's typical questions like "Why is the sky blue?"  Sammy did love to ask questions.

Sam looked down at 'Bee, then back up at his brother.  "Are the other kitties that 'Bee was with in Heaven now?"

Dean didn't know how to answer that question. Was there a Heaven? He didn't know, but he hoped so, for his Mom's sake. He looked over at his brother, who had Bee curled up on his lap. "I don't know, buddy. What do you think?"

Sam looked up at his brother, surprised. Didn't Dean know everything?

Dean noted the surprise. "What? I don't know, Sammy. I don't."

Sam hung his head and buried his face in the ruff at Bee's neck. He felt like a baby when his eyes started to fill with tears. He tried to hide it but when he sniffled, he knew he'd given it away.

Dean groaned. Rising from where he'd been sitting in front of Bobby's overflowing bookcase, he went to sit beside Sam on the couch. "Sammy?"

His voice muffled against Bee's neck, Sam replied, "What?"

Dean gently ran his hand along Sam's hair.  Normally he'd tease Sam about how long it was growing, but that... that just didn't feel right at that moment.

"What do you think, Sammy?" he asked softly.

"I-I think they're in H-Heaven, w-with Mommy," Sam replied, his voice soft and timid.

"Dean pulled him closer, gave his brother a hug.  "Well, if that's what you think, then that's what I think, too," he declared.

"R-really?" Sam snuffled, as two fat tears rolled down each of his little cheeks.

Dean nodded, and thumbed the tears away.  "Really.  And you know what else?  I'll bet Mom's taking really good care of them, too, just like you take really good care of 'Bee."  He reached down and scritched between "Bee's ears.  "Isn't that right, 'Bee?"

The kitten looked up and mewed, and Dean nodded.  "See?  Even 'Bee says you take good care of him."

His tears drying, Sam gave a soft, watery giggle.  "You're silly.  You don't speak Kitty-talk, Dean."

Dean gaped at Sam, giving him a mock surprised look. "What're you talking about, Sammy? I do so!" He proceeded in making cat sounds until he had Sam laughing until the boy was clutching his belly. Only when Sam had collapsed against him did Dean give up on his silliness, and pulling his brother close, said softly, "Lean on me, Sam. Nap time."

When Sam did so without an argument, Dean knew how tired his brother was. Within minutes, both Sam and Bee were sleeping, with Dean watching over them, a soft smile crossing his face.

 

Bobby was still grumbling under his breath when he returned to the house. Walking in and hearing nothing, he crept into his study, finding two sleeping boys and a kitten curled up together on the divan. His ire fading away, he sighed softly, grabbed up a light blanket, and covered Dean with it, Sammy already covered with one. He studied the boys a moment, and then said softly, "John, you're missin' so much. You're an idjit."

Bumblebee turned and looked up at Bobby, and mewed again.

"An' yer hungry, I'll bet," Bobby said, gently picking up the kitten from Sam's lap.  "C'mon, fuzzy, let's get you some chow."

The kitten purred as he snuggled into Bobby's chest, and looked up at him, green eyes full of love.

"Knock that off," Bobby grumped.  When the kitten only purred and snuggled closer, Bobby rolled his eyes.  It was impossible to stay angry while holding a kitten.  Just freaking impossible.  Even at a stubborn SOB like John Winchester.

¤¤¤

John finally showed up a week later, exhausted and obviously recuperating from his own injuries sustained during the hunt. Bobby wanted to rip into the man but held it inside as he watched John greet his sons.

He held it in until later that night. The boys were finally in bed after arguing they weren't tired. Too excited by their father's return to go to sleep, according to Dean anyway, but giving in to their dad's orders for the two to march upstairs and hit the sack.

Bobby was waiting for John at the kitchen table, an open bottle of Jack and two glasses at the ready. "Sit."

John glared at him a moment, then sat when Bobby lifted the bottle and began pouring. "You've obviously got something to say. Spit it out."

Bobby tossed his drink back in one swallow, and grimacing, stated, "You're an asshole, Winchester."

John shrugged. "It's been said. What's your point?"

Bobby wasn't sure he was going to be able to say the things he wanted to say without a) yelling it and waking up the boys or B) smashing John over the head with the bottle of Jack.  Instead, he took a deep breath and hissed, "Do you realize how sick Sam was?  How many days Dean and I stayed in the hospital with him?  How many times Dean held him while he cried with fever and pain?  And where the hell were you, huh?"

John looked down at the worn kitchen table.  "I had to--"

"No.  You listen to me and you fucking well listen good, Winchester.  Whatever you THINK you had to do, nothing and nobody should come between you and being there for those boys.  They NEED you.  Not a drill sergeant.  Not part-time father.  They.  Need.  You.  Do you really think your Mary would want you to--"

John's head snapped up, his eyes blazing with anger.  "Don't you DARE bring Mary into this," he snarled - and suddenly winced in pain.  Clutching his side, the glass in his hand shattered with a *pop* as he squeezed it painfully, the agony he was feeling making his whole form tighten.

Whiskey and blood trickled between his hand, running all over the table, as John gripped the table with his uninjured hand, gasping in pain.

"John?" Bobby was standing in a flash, and reaching out, felt something beneath John's shirt on his right side.  Carefully lifting the shirt, he sucked in his breath at the huge bandage wrapped around the other man's side.

He caught John's wince. "What happened?"

Pushing Bobby's hand away, John pushed the hem of his shirt back down. "Just got tangled up with a--" He grunted as he shifted in his chair, the pain in his side cutting off his words.

"With what, John? What was so important that you felt you had to ignore the boys?" Bobby was pissed. He wasn't in any mood to let the other man off the hook, injury or no.

Holding a hand to his side, John winced as he shifted in his chair. He reached for the Jack and poured another healthy measure into his glass, then swallowed it down. "A demon. He came at me with a poisoned knife. When I came to, I was in the hospital."

Bobby nodded, accepting the explanation, but said, his voice low and gravelly, "You still could have called. I left a shitload of messages, John. Didn't you get them?"

John glared at his friend. "How was I to do that, Bobby? I nearly died."

“My phone was in the car, which I couldn't get to... and besides, it was better the boys didn't know.  What could they have done?  Sam was already sick and Dean... Dean had enough to deal with Sam being ill."

Bobby got a towel and wiped the whiskey from the table.  Without another word, he left the room and came back with a first aid kit.  "Gimme your hand, you jackass."  John was about to protest, but the look in Bobby's eyes could apparently make the oldest Winchester obey just as well as the youngest.  John held out his hand, and Bobby quickly wrapped some gauze around it, the whole time muttering about "stubborn jackass Winchesters" and "yer sons got more sense than you do.”

John, for a change of pace, didn't argue any of it.

When he was finished, Bobby walked over and fished the keys to the Mustang out of John's coat pocket, dropped them in the first aid kit, and again left the room.

John was so stunned; he just sat there, mouth agape.  When Bobby came back in the room, he said "Bobby, what did you--?"

Bobby stood over him and thrust out his finger like a father about to give his errant child a stern scolding.  "You listen and you listen good, Winchester.  You and those boys are stayin’ until I decide you're all well enough that you can go.  I ain't having you drag those boys out the door at first light while you're still banged up.  You're all staying here - get me?

John was too tired and sore to argue. "Fine, you old woman. The boys and I can stick around a few more days, I guess."

Bobby shook his head. "You must have shit for brains. What part of me takin' your keys away didn't you understand?"

John didn't bother stifling the snort that escaped his lips. "Alright, alright. I hear you, but when Sammy and I are feeling better, we're outta here."

Bobby whapped John on the back of his head. "You're welcome, asshole."

 

John checked in on his sons before he went to bed. Sam was in Dean's bed, snuggled up close to his big brother, a drowsy kitten curled up in a ball at the boy's feet. John gave the kitten's sleek head a pat, and the little creature gazed at him as he fondly looked at his boys.

 

"Dad?" Dean whispered, careful not to stir and awaken Sam.

 

John moved a little closer and said as softly as he could "You should be asleep, too, Dean."

 

Dean looked up at him and said, "You're hurt, aren't you?"

 

John sighed - there was very little he could keep from his eldest. He'd made the boy grow up so fast, and it tore at his heart more often than he cared to think about. He nodded. "Yeah, I was, Dean. That's why I couldn't come back and be with you and your brother." He reached out and caressed Dean's short, spiky locks. "But your Uncle Bobby told me you did a great job looking after Sammy. Good job, son."

 

Dean smiled - praise from Dad was few and far between, and he savored it. "Are we staying here a little longer, Dad?" he asked, and John couldn't help but notice the slight pleading in Dean's voice.

 

"Yeah, sport, we are. Your brother's not well yet, and I--" A stitch in his side pulled as he shifted, making him grunt.

"You're not well either, Dad." Dean shifted gently away from Sam, not wanting to awaken his brother. He got out of bed and, rounding the foot of the bed, went to stand next to his dad. "Lemme see."

"Dean--"

"Dad, Lemme see it."

John grunted again as he rose from the bed and left the room, heading for the bathroom just down the hall. Flipping on the light, he sat on the closed lid of the toilet and submitted to his elder son's exploration of his injury.

Dean held the hem of John's shirt up, and ran a finger over the bandage covering much of his dad's right side. A portion of it was showing some pink, and Dean knew that there was blood seepage underneath. "Did Uncle Bobby take a look at it?"

John hesitated to respond in the negative, since he hadn't let the Bobby take a look, but he shook his head anyway.

Dean glared at his dad.

John gave him a "don't start with me" look back.  "It's... well, it's better than it was, son, trust me on that.  That's another reason we're staying a little longer.  I made the decision -"

"Uncle Bobby hid your car keys, huh?" Dean asked, the start of a grin on his face.

John slumped a little in defeat.  Dammit, since when was he getting outfoxed by a reprobate like Bobby Singer and his own kid?  He was losing his touch.

John's shrug gave Dean all the answer he needed. Without a word, the boy leaned down and pulled a first aid kit from inside the cabinet under the sink. Setting it on the countertop, he opened it.

"Son--"

Dean gave his dad a steady, uncompromising glare. "Take off your shirt, Dad."

John stared at his son a long minute then shrugged. It wasn't as if it would be the first time he'd been patched up by his eldest, and it wouldn't be the last. Grunting as he pulled the shirt off his arms, he turned on the seat to give Dean more room.

Dean gently pulled back the bandage, then sent a worried look at his dad. "Dad, this--"

"I know. It looks bad, but trust me, it's a lot better than it was." He studied Dean a moment, considering, then said, "Go get Bobby, son. He can do it."

"No, Dad. I'm fine. I got it."

Dean got to work then, cleaning and re-bandaging with the quick efficiency that John himself had taught him.  It didn't take more than a few moments, and when they were finished and Dean had thrown away the bloodied bandages, he looked into his father's face.  "Dad, while we're staying here... can we... would it be okay if we... just played catch?  And maybe go fishing in the pond?  Just you and Sam and me? Can we... can we try and do just regular stuff?"

John nodded as Dean put the last strip of medical tape over the bandage.  "Sure, Deano. We can do that." Reaching out, he ruffled his son's hair then patted the boy's shoulder. "Are you done? I don't know about you, but I'm beat. Let's clean this mess up then I want you back in bed."

Dean grinned at his dad then putting the first aid kit away and disposing of the soiled bandages, he said, "I'm glad you're back, Dad. Sammy and I missed you."

"I missed you too, big guy." John smiled at his boy then tapped him on the shoulder. "Go on. Go to bed."

"Yes, sir." Dean smiled at his dad then turned to leave the room.

John watched, then finally alone, sighed with fatigue. "I'm getting too old for this shit."

As John got ready for bed, his back to the door, he heard the soft pads of little feet.  He turned around as the little ball of fluff walked into the room, and made a beeline for him.  Before he knew it, Bumblebee was winding between his legs, purring happily, as if he was a long-lost friend.

John sat on the bed, and the kitten looked up at him.  He wiggled his tiny rear, and with a leap, hopped up on the covers, still purring away.

Reaching out, John stroked the feline's head. His voice soft, he asked, "Bee? That your name? Well, Bee...have you been taking care of my boys?"

The kitten ignored John, instead, he began to bathe himself, licking a paw then running it over and around his left ear.

John huffed, leaving the cat to his thing. Rising once more, John disrobed, moving around the room slowly as he put his clothes aside and donned well-worn pajama pants. With a loud sigh, he lay back on his bed and was asleep before he was able to feel the warm body of the kitten curl up at his back.

 

**Epilogue**

For the next few weeks, there were a few more guests at the Singer Salvage yard.  There were arguments, and there was teasing, and there were moments that held their share of pain.  But there were also games of catch, and time spent fishing, and games of hide-and-seek.  There were cookouts, and moments of quiet reflection, there was raucous, semi-buzzed adult laughter, and nights when two young boys stayed up past their bedtimes and tried to catch fireflies with feline assistance.

John and Bobby sat on chairs, bottles of beer at hand, as they watched the boys dash around in the moonlight after the fireflies. Whenever Sam caught one and contained it in the old Mason jar he had at the ready, he'd shout out in glee. Watching his boys play gave John a measure of guilt. He was well aware his boys didn't have the life they needed or deserved. He knew that to the depths of his soul, and yet he couldn't give up the hunt for what took his Mary. He couldn't. Not yet.

Bobby looked over at John, alerted by the man's quietness. "I can hear the gears turnin' in that melon of yours. What's it now, John? You're moping about somethin'."

John took a sip of beer, shrugged.  "Thinking about what you said before.  About Mary.  You were right, Bobby.  She wouldn't have wanted this life for the boys.  She'd wanted me to give them all I could, settle down, keep 'em safe." 

He looked over at Bobby, and the raw pain in John's eyes went straight to the other man's heart.  "But something tells me I have to kill that thing, because if I don't... it's not done with us.  I don't know how I know that, but I do.  I know it in my soul.  I _have_ to kill it before it comes back and hurts my boys again.  I'll die before I let that happen, Bobby.  I'll die a hundred times before I'll let that thing hurt my boys."

"I hear ya, John, and I ain't gonna stop ya, but you need to think of the boys too. Keeping them here with me this summer has been good for 'em. Ain't gonna lie, it's been good for me too. But, they need you even more. You're their dad, not me. The hunt will always be there, you know it as well as I do, but those boys out there--" he gestured at the boys as they ran about the yard, Dean chasing after his brother, "they need a home. A place to settle down. Go to school regular. Make friends."

John smiled as he watched Dean tackle Sammy, tugging his brother to the ground, tickling him as Sammy screeched with glee. "I know, Bobby. I do."

"Then do somethin' about it. Settle down somewhere around here, maybe. If you get the itch to hunt, I'll be here for the kids, but give them a home, man. They deserve it, and John--"

John looked over at his friend. "Yeah?"

"You deserve it too. Mary'd want it for you and the boys."

"I know. I--"

"D-DAAAADDDDDY!!!! Dean's t-ticking meeeeeeeeeeee!!!!! M-Make him st-stop!!!!" Sam squealed with laughter as Dean got him under the arms and wiggled his fingers.  Dean had concluded that now that Sammy was feeling better, he could tease him again, and what better way to torment his hypersensitive little brother than with an all-out tickle attack?

The lightning bugs flew into the air from the discarded jars, lighting up the scene of the two children rolling around in front of Bobby's porch, Sam's hysterical laughter filling the air.

Though he still ached in his side where he was stabbed, John was healed up enough that he was now able to thrust up from his chair and cross the yard to where his boys played. Joining them on the night-cooled grass, John reached out and pulled Sam into his arms, giving the boy his own measure of rib tickles. As Sam screeched and hollered, Dean leapt on his dad's back, reaching around John's neck to jab at his brother.

One arm full of his youngest, John reached around and seized Dean, pulling the boy to the ground. The three laughed together as they scuffled, unaware when Bee scampered out of the way, prancing back towards the house where Bobby sat.

Bobby grinned as he watched the trio, and when Bee pounced up into his lap, he stroked the kitten into loud purrs. "Don't blame ya none, sprite. That's more'n enough rowdiness for me too," Bobby said, forgetting he was several years younger than John was. "S'not the age, Bee. It's the mileage, and I've had my share."

¤¤¤

The next day, around noon, there was the sound of a car pulling up in front of the house.  John walked out on the porch, and saw the woman and a young girl get out, and a stab of regret pierced his heart.

Ellen.

He'd sworn the woman would never speak to him again after what had happened with Bill.  If it hadn't been for Bobby, getting the two of them to talk, Ellen might still hate him, and he didn't want that.  She was a good woman, a fine hunter, and he was glad that while they might not be best pals, at least they could be in the same room.

Ellen nodded at the man.  "John.  Bobby said you really put your foot in it.  Again."  From someone else, that might've sounded cruel, but the smile on Ellen's lips softened the words. 

She placed her hand on the shoulder of the girl.  "You remember my Jo, right?

John grinned.  "Hey, Ellen.  Nice to see you, Jo."

Jo nodded and asked, "Are your kids here, too?  Is your little boy better now?"

John nodded.  "Uh-huh, Sam's doing just fine.  He and Dean are around back, helping Bobby.  Well, Dean's helping, last time I looked Sam was getting licked to death by George." He stepped down and motioned the pair to join him around back.

Jo bounded ahead, leaving Ellen and John to follow behind her.

"So, John...how have you been? It's been a while," Ellen asked, looking over at the man at her side.

"D'you really want to know or just making conversation?" John replied, a measure of sarcasm filling his voice.

Ellen reached out and grabbed him by the upper arm, stopping him in his tracks. "None of that, Winchester. That's bullshit and you know it. Yeah, we've had our issues, but we got past that. Don't take that attitude with me. Not now."

Running a hand over his face, John sighed deeply. "Yeah, I know. Sorry."

"So," Ellen let a soft smile curve her generous lips. "Answer my question."

John grinned back and shrugged. "Same shit, different day, you know. Just got back from a hunt that didn't go as planned. Got hurt, but what's new, right?"

Concerned, Ellen reached up to pat his cheek. "Are you ok?"

"Actually... right now, yeah. I am actually okay.  Bobby's let us stay here while Sam gets better and I..."

"Get better, too.  What did Bobby do - hide the keys to you Mustang?"

"Still haven't found the damn things..." John muttered, and Ellen tossed back her head and laughed.

"Yep, that sounds just like Bobby, stubborn cuss that he is."

Chuckling softly, Ellen wrapped an arm through John's and walked with him to the back yard where Bobby stood watching the three kids. At their approach, Bobby turned their way and met them.

"Hey, darlin'," Bobby smiled and bent over to kiss Ellen on the lips.

John gaped at them. "Something you two have to tell me?"

Bobby smiled down into Ellen's eyes. "We're friends, you and I, John, but I don't tell you everything."

"Clearly."

Ellen chuckled again, and turned her attention to John. "Ok...so Bobby and I have been seeing each other for a while now. D'you have a problem with that?" She stared him down until John shrugged and turned his head.

"Nope. It's your business."

"Good to know you approve," Bobby huffed, then called out to the children who were still playing with George.  The dog was in a state of bliss - so many people to play with!

"All right, ya rugrats, get over here and say hello!"

Dean looked up and gave Ellen a bright smile and a wave, which Ellen gladly returned.  It did her heart good to see the young boy look so happy; he'd been so worried about his little brother.

Sam ran over as fast as his legs would carry him and stopped right in front of Ellen, who gave the adorable child a smile. 

"Hi, Sam," she said, holding out her hand, "I'm Jo's mom, Ellen.  It's nice to see that you're feeling better."

Sam looked at her hand, and then looked at his father.  John nodded and Sam slipped him tiny hand into hers.

"Hello," he said sweetly, "are you Uncle Bobby's girlfriend?  Can I call you Auntie Ellen?"

Ellen's felt her heart clench; the boy was so adorable. She reached out and ruffled his curls, and said lovingly, "'Course you can, honey. I see you boys met my Jo?"

Sam nodded his head excitedly. "Uh, huh. She's nice!"

Dean's response was less enthusiastic, but his soft smile said it all. "Yeah." He looked over at the girl standing next to her mom. "She's cool."

Jo shared a long look with Dean. She stayed silent, but smiled back at him before moving close to her mom to lean against Ellen's hips.

Sam reached out and took Jo's hand.  "C'mon, I'll take you to meet 'Bee.  He's the best kitty in the whole world.  Me an' Dean an' Uncle Bobby take care of him, an' I'll bet he'd like you a whole lot, Jo!"  Sam seemed to have forgotten all about his "girls were gross and had cooties" proclamations.  Jo was instantly part of his circle; therefore, she was a friend.

The three kids trooped into the house, leaving the adults to talk about whatever it was adults talked about.  Sam led the way, and soon they were looking at the puff of black and yellow fluff, curled up into a ball.

"This," Sam said proudly "is Bumblebee, but we calls him 'Bee 'cause he's still little.  Isn't he neat?"

At the sound of his name, Bumblebee opened of green eye.  He unwound himself and gave out with a great big yawn and a stretch as he blinked up at the boys and the girl.

Jo grinned.  "Aw, he's so cute!  Where'd you get him?"

Dean replied, "Sammy found him while we were playing hide and seek with Uncle Bobby in the car yard."

"Uh-huh!" Sam said smiling brightly.  "He was so little bitty!  But he's much bigger an' grown up now.  Watch, he can do tricks!"  Sam walked away from the box and held out his right hand. 

"Bumblebee, c'mere!  C'mere, 'Bee!"

Bumblebee jumped out of his box, and walked right over to sit in front of Sam, who scooped him up, giggling.  "See?  Isn't that cool?"  He walked over to Jo and held the kitten out.  "You wanna hold him.  Bumblebee, this is Jo, an' she's very nice."

Jo was a little hesitant, but she took the kitten from Sam's hands.  'Bee looked up at her and began to purr and nuzzle her.

Dean smiled.  "He likes you, too."

Jo giggled.  "Why'd you name him 'Bumblebee'?" she asked.

Dean grinned, "Sam named him after the Autobot, but you probably don't know what that -"

"Sure I do,' Jo retorted.  "I like The Transformers, too, ya know!"

Both Winchester boys gaped.

Dean grinned.  This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

 

While the kids played with Bee in the living room, the adults sat at the kitchen table. John filled them in on the hunt he'd been on, and more details on how he'd been injured. During the telling, Ellen slipped a hand across the table and cupped it over John's.

"Johnny, why do you do this?" Before he had a chance to respond, Ellen continued. "I know it's about losing Mary. I get that, Lord knows I do. I know what it's like losing your spouse." She shared a brief look with Bobby, a silent _I'm sorry,_ before continuing, "But, John, it's time to let it go. It's time to stop dragging those sweet boys of yours from place to place, not giving them a home, all in your revenge over losing Mary. It's time to stop."

"I can't, El. I can't. She was my world, and I can't rest until the sonofabitch who took her from me is dead and gone."

Ellen sighed, then stood and moved to stand in from of John. "Bullshit. Those boys in there are your world. It's time to prove it to them, and to yourself."

John sighed.  In his heart he knew Ellen was right - but the need to chase down that - that thing that had taken his Mary, that had robbed his family of peace, of a normal life - was still out there.

A thought struck him.  It wasn’t a perfect thought, but it was a start.  "What if I could give them some good times?  Some stable times?"  He looked over at Bobby.  "If you're up to it.  What if the boys came here in the summer?  They could as much from you as form me... maybe, maybe even a little more."

Bobby didn't even have to think about it. "You don't even have to ask, John. Those boys, and you, are always welcome here. You know that, so don't be an idjit. You know that's not what Ellen's sayin', though. The boys need their own home, not mine."

 

John nodded. "I know, but I--"

 

Ellen shared a look with Bobby, and he nodded. "Ok, then. It's a start. You can leave the yahoos here until you find your own place."

John gave a forced smile. It would have to be good enough. He'd do it for his boys... and for his Mary.

 

Later that night, after the boys were tucked in bed and Bobby was doing some research for another hunter who'd called asking for help; John wandered through the quiet house, antsy, itchy, feeling cooped up. He wanted to take a drive, but the cuss sitting in the study still hadn't handed over the keys to the Mustang.

Suddenly the shrill sound of a phone cut through the night air.  John heard Bobby get up, and walk into the kitchen to answer it.

"Yeah?  Don?  Don Jacobs, is that you?  Where the - Don, quit yellin', you idjit, I can hear you."

John grinned.  Don was another hunter, and a long-winded one at that.  Bobby'd be on the phone for a bit, he was sure.

Plenty of time to get into the study and find his keys.

John slipped into the room as quietly as he could.  He was about to begin the search with a tiny shadow caught his eye.

Bumblebee slipped into the room, and batted at the floor rug.  He flipped a corner back, and poked his little paw through a hold in the floorboards.

John grinned.  The perfect spot.

He knelt down, and gently pushed 'Bee out of the way.  He lifted the board, and found a hollowed out space, just small enough to hide...

John blinked.  A copy of "Great Expectations"?  He picked the book up and gave it a slight shake.

The *thunk" confirmed his suspicions.  Hollow.

He opened the book, and smirked; there were his keys.  He was just about to take them when his saw what else the book contained. 

A box.  The type that you'd put a -

He opened it, and his eyes widened.

That sly dog Singer.

He knew Ellen would say "yes" to that beautiful ring, and to the good-hearted man who was going to give it to her.

Without a sound, John placed the ring in the box, and the box in the book.  He looked at the keys in his hand, then over at Bumblebee, who was staring at him intently.

John put the keys back, replaced the book and the floorboard, tucked the rug back, and picked up the kitten.

"What's a few more days, huh?  You're not tired of us yet, are you?" The kitten mewled and licked John's nose.

He came out of the study, and walked into the kitchen just as Bobby was hanging up the phone. 

"How that moron has been able to stay alive this long I've no idea," Bobby muttered.  He looked at John holding the kitten, and was sorely tempted to bust out laughing; it made such a ridiculously cute moment.

John put 'Bee on the floor and the feline toddled off to his bed.  He pulled up a chair and growled "Cards?"

Bobby smirked.  "Why not?  I haven't taken a sucker to school lately..."

John chuckled.  "Oh, bring it on, Singer."

So, the men played cards, and two boys slept, and the world kept turning.

Life went on.  A different life for some.  Maybe a better one.

One thing was for sure - where the Winchesters were concerned, there was always more than meets the eye.


End file.
